A Study Of Emily
by RomanticideToxicity
Summary: Emily never knew who her father was. Myrcoft Holmes discovers they might be intimate family. Emily is made to take a DNA test. When results are affirmative Emily's world turns upside down. She finds herself living in a house with body parts in the fridge and whisked around with broody detective, who wants her around about as much as a virus.Please review. first Sherlock fic!
1. Chapter 1

**So, this is a new fic I'm starting up about my OC, Emily, whose mother died and left the name of her real father in her will. I don't know if Mycroft is the father or if Sherlock is, or if the whole thing was a planned happening from the beginning, so please review and let me know who you think the father should be and why. I kinda think I'm leaning towards Mycroft, but I'm also very tempted by Holmes. **

Emily brushed her hair back with both hands, letting it fall across her shoulders. She picked up her bag and slung it across her shoulders, and she released a silent sigh as she bent her knees slightly to look at herself in the mirror.

Her thick brown hair hung down over her shoulders in soft waves despite the straightening torture she'd attempted to put it through. Her brown doe eyes gazed out from naturally long lashes and a subtle outline of eyeliner. Her skin was a soft olive tone, her lips a slightly tanner colour.

She shook her head. She'd have to do.

She jogged down the stairs quickly and walked out of the door, her stomach a sickening mixture of knots and butterflies.

"Hi," She said, ducking her head slightly.

"Hello," A voice acknowledged. Her eyes skimmed up and she caught sight of the man that had spoken with her on the phone. His name was Mycroft Holmes, he'd said.

He met her look with a slightly reprimanding one of his own.

"Are you ready?" Was all he asked, gesturing towards the car. She ran her tongue across her dry lips and nodded slightly, giving a determined nod as she slid into the car. The door was closed behind her before she could even reach out to close it. She slid the seatbelt around herself.

"So, you would be my Uncle, I guess," She said as the man himself slid into the back of the car with her.

"Innocent until proven guilty," He replied, somewhat frostily.

Emily ducked her head slightly, biting her lip. "I guess so," Was all she said, recognising the bite behind the sentence.

Her fingers fidgeted awkwardly and she bit her lip. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered violently and she swallowed.

Her mum's funeral had only been yesterday, and the will had stated, finally, who her father was. Emily sucked in a low breath, ignoring the pang inside her stomach. Her stomach had been in butterflies ever since, and her sadness had been following her like a black cloud.

"Why did you bother?" She asked suddenly, turning to look at Mycroft. He gave her a long look.

:"Because if there is a possibility of you being apart of my close family, I had to."

"That doesn't make sense." Emily mumbled, turning away to look out the window.

"It doesn't have to," Mycroft snapped. She flinched slightly, but said nothing in her defense.

The car pulled into a hospital lot and Mycroft stepped out the car. Emily opened her door and stepped out.

"Leave your bag in the car. You'll have no use of it in here," Mycroft said pointedly, glaring at the bag. Emily glanced at the bag, wondering what was offending him more; the skulls or the roses. Still she did as requested, ditching the bag in the car and following him into the hospital.

A nurse met them there, leading them both to a small, sterile room. Emily sat down on the gurney as requested, and licked her lips again. The nurse approached her with a cotton wool swab in hand.

"Please open your mouth."

Emily did as ordered, opening her mouth like a baby bird.

"Wonderful," The nurse murmured, sticking the swab into Emily's mouth and brushing it against her cheek interior before pulling it back carefully.

"We'll have the results in half an hour," The nurse mumbled, giving Mycroft a slightly frightened look. Emily wondered why briefly as she pushed herself off the gurney, taking in a breath of relief. She waggled her tongue, trying to make spit, sucking in her left cheek and her right cheek and hollowing them out in her effort to make spit.

Mycroft gave her a disgusted look that made her want to do it again just to annoy her spectator, but she decided against it. The guy had a scary atmosphere about him despite his slightly chubby middle and umbrella.

"Well," He said, leaning on his umbrella. "Now that that's over with, where do you want to go for half an hour?"

Emily shrugged and watched as he rolled his eyes, muttering, "Oh, the insolence of a teenager."

Emily raised her brow at that. "I'm not being insolent. There's just nothing that springs to mind." She sighed. "Why don't you just leave me here and bugger off for a while."

Oh _crap_. Emily froze. Oh crap, tell me I didn't say that last bit out loud. Judging by the entirely pissed off look on his face, she had.

"Sorry," She offered weakly, ducking her head again. He scowled and turned on his heel, stalking off. Leaving her there. After a few minutes, she was ushered out of the room by the nurse.

Standing outside, she bit her lip, staring down the white halls, watching as people walked by. She retrieved her phone from her pocket, checking her messages. She'd received more than usual since her mum had passed away, but in it's way that was to be expected. Almost expected tears stung at her eyes and she sniffled softly, trying hard to resist from crying.

"Excuse me," She called to a passing nurse. The nurse stopped for her, giving her a concerned look. "Can you tell me where the bathroom is?"

Her eyes were now swimming with tears, a few of which cascaded down her cheeks. The nurse nodded and pointed her in the right way. She leant over the sink, her eyes closed and tears trickling down her cheeks.

"God," She whispered, brushing her tears away with a hand and turning the tap on. She cupped her hands, making a puddle of water form in the middle of them before she brushed them up against her face. The water was cold and refreshing, but it didn't seem to stop her wanting to cry. She took in several breaths, hoping to calm herself.

She heard the door open and turned into a cubicle, locking it. She sniffled softly, unravelling tissue paper from the roll and rubbing them against her eyes.

She felt like she was in there forever, unable to stop crying. Even when the nurse that had taken her blood came in, looking for her. She was barely able to croak out a coherent answer and unlock the door. Seeing her, the nurse gave her a sympathetic look.

"I'm sorry for your loss," She said, as though that would make everything better, make her stop crying. It didn't. A few minutes later, Emily forced herself to get under control.

"Is she in there?" Mycroft's voice, muffled through the door, echoed dimly in the bathroom.

The nurse opened the door and Emily shook herself rubbing her eyes fiercely with her hands. He said nothing to her at seeing her appearance and she walked from the bathroom, hiding the trembling in her body and the tears in her eyes.

"Well," Mycroft said grimly, "Let's go look at the results."

Emily licked her lips. "Didn't you look already?"

Mycroft shook his head. "No. I decided you needed to be there."

The two arrived in a room similar to the first, with the nurse leading them. Emily inhaled starkly, her chest rising and falling in a deep movement.

The nurse moved over to a sheet of paper lying on a desk and handed it to Mycroft. Emily looked up at him, her mouth drying up.

Mycroft's lips twitched, and he extended the sheet of paper towards her.

"Welcome to the family."

Emily took the paper, brushing her thumb over it. She looked at the answer and exhaled, beginning to re-fold it again. Welcome to the family indeed.

**So, yeah. I kinda need to know who should be the daddy (Or who should be the false daddy) and what people think about this. I know this is hardly an original concept, but please dance along to my music for a lil bit. Thank you for reading. I promise that the next chapter will be fairly longer. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi, thanks to the readers. In one night I got quite a few results. :) Thanks guys. Anyways, this chapter will hopefully be better than the last, though it will probably be a little jolty. I hope I manage the characters without causing any OOC-ness and I hope that Emily doesn't turn out too cliche- it would be just me luck for her to follow the trace of everybody elses OC. But, however, I know the twist of the story now, I just have to work out everything in between. :)**

Emily slid into the car, clicking her seatbelt into place before she leant forward, pulling her bag towards herself and opening it. She rummaged around in it's cluttered contents and pulled out a small photo album. She opened it, nudging her bag back down to the ground with her feet.

The first page revealed a young Emily, beaming a wide grin over a birthday cake. The next, one of the photos she'd been looking for, revealed her mother, a tall more than a little curvy woman with lovely olive skin and dark eyes. Emily looked at it for a moment before closing the book, putting it back in her bag.

Mycroft slid into the car, closing it soundly behind him. He glanced at her and she at him.

"So, what happens now?" She asked, looking out the window nervously.

Mycroft didn't say anything to that, merely looking out of his window as though he wasn't interested. He probably wasn't.

Emily returned her gaze to the window. The streets of London passed by quickly, the sunlight casting an affectionate glow over the , the car stopped beside Baker street and Mycroft got out. Taking his head, Emily exited the car, grabbing her bag and following him into the building.

In stark contrast to the day outside, the house was relatively cool, and dark. They ascended the stairs slowly, Mycroft puffing slightly as they neared the top. Emily couldn't help the slight twitch that tugged at the corner of her lip.

They stopped before a door, labelled 221B, waiting, Emily suspected, for Mycroft to stop breathing so laboriously.

When he'd finally stopped panting, Mycroft opened the door and stepped into what appeared to be a living room. Emily shivered; it felt like the room had been air conned to death.

She shook off the chill, regretting her choice in sleeveless top. Her eyes scanned over the room, landing on a tall man leaning back against the sofa, his hands steepled underneath his chin.

"Mind Palace," Mycroft replied to her unasked question. His answer only led to more questions flitting around her head. "Ask him,"

The man let out a grunt, sounding disappointed. His eyes opened and he sat up, looking irritated.

"Hello, little brother," Mycroft said pleasantly.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said, his voice surprisingly deep and baritone.

"This is Emily," Mycroft continued, pointing his umbrella towards her. Emily eyed it nervously as her withdrew it. An umbrella like that could take someone's eye out.

Sherlock raised a brow, standing up. Tall and lean, he towered above Emily.

He walked around her, picking out certain aspects as he went.

"Tall for a female teenager, curvy- probably a little over weight. Some muscle mass can a attributed to this as well as fat in general. Thick hair, dead ends. Needs cutting. Olive skin tone, natural."

He turned her face, observing it. Emily swallowed.

"Good teeth- probably straightened by a brace or retainer at one point. Contacts, but the same colour of your eyes; you've been crying, and they've caused irritation in your eyes. Eyebrows are thick, probably plucked one in a while.

You're not much on appearance, but you like wearing make up; like most women, you like thinking it makes you look better, and even a little bit can help you feel better about yourself."

He pressed his fingers against her cheeks, feeling her flinch. "High cheekbones."

He stood back, observing her. "There is some family resemblance, if looked for carefully. The rest must come from you're mother's side." He scowled slightly, "She must have had a very dominate gene pool."

Emily bit the inside of her cheek nervously.

"There is a small chance, supposedly, that you could be mine."

"The DNA test said that she is yours," Mycroft interrupted.

"And yet I don't remember the mother."

"You were probably high, drunk, or both," Mycroft said disdainfully.

Sherlock scowled. "It's possible." He acknowledged. "If that was the case, it might have attributed to the mother not relaying that I was the father sooner."

He fixed his stare on Emily. "Have you told mummy?"

Emily couldn't help the twitch of her lips then; it wasn't often you heard adults call their mums, "mummy", especially when the adult in question looked so foreboding.

Mycroft smiled. "No. I left that particular task to you, dear brother. Unless, of course, you neglect to tell her later tonight."

The door banged open suddenly, making Emily jump and twist around towards the door. A man walked in, weighed down with heavy bags. His hair was short and a soft tawny blonde colour. He was short, dressed in a black coat and blue jeans. He blinked, looking awkward as he dropped the carrier bags at the floor.

"Uh, hello." He said, sounding as awkward as he looked.

"Hi," Emily said, turning around to face him.

"Uh, hi.' He extended a hand, "I'm John Watson."

Emily nodded, smiling, "Emily."

"She's my long lost daughter apparently," Sherlock droned. Watson doubled back, staring at her incredulously.

"Oh, wow. How did that happen?" He glanced between Emily and Sherlock incredulously, trying to find features that linked them together.

Emily shrugged, inhaling, "Well apparently when mommy gets drunk and daddy gets high, or something along the lines, they go bump bump."

John blinked. "Uh. . . yeah."

"She's going to be living here," Mycroft informed him. John, Sherlock and Emily all fixed him with a stare that kind of mixed a _really_ expression and_ just how is that going to work_ expression together.

'Where?" Sherlock replied coldly. "It's a two bedroom apartment."

Mycroft snorted, "You don't even use your bedroom. Let her sleep in there."

"She'll," He paused, his lips drawing up into a snarl, "Contaminate it."

"With what?" Mycroft snapped, "Her teenager pheromones?

Sherlock let a snarling noise, stalking around the room. Emily dug her hand into her pocket, clenching her hand around her phone. She retrieved it and took it out, opening up a text box. Her fingers skimmed over the letters of her phone as she created a text.

**Hi, Abi. Would it b k if I stayed at urs tonite? Em. **

She brought up google map, looking at her location. She mapped a route, realising she wasn't too far away from Abbey's house.

"Um, I think it would be best if I sleep somewhere else tonight," Emily mumbled, putting a stop to the feuding brothers. "I mean, he doesn't want me here, and I don't really have the right to stay without consent, so. . ."

"No. You'll stay," Mycroft snapped after a moment's pause. "You all need to get used to each other."

"I think it would be best toi," Sherlock retorted, towering deliberately over Mycroft, who was looking angrier by the minute.

A text came through.

**Yeah, sure. **

She slung her bag over her shoulder again and tugged her trapped hair from out of the strap.

"Abbey said I could."

"No, no," John said, barring the door. "Please don't go. He's just very. . . difficult. He'll come around to the idea, just stick it out for a few nights, and if you still don't want to be here, then we'll work something out."

Emily hesitated. She glanced back at the brothers, who were taking turns to glare at each other and then at her.

"Um," She was all but jigging with discomfort. "I suppose so."

"No!" Sherlock growled.

"Sherlock, she's your daughter," John said, sounding exasperated. "Get to know her; for all you know, she could turn out quite the protegé."

Sherlock looked at her, his lips thinning. Emily felt as though he was mentally assessing her. She met his eye contant, suddenly envious of his piercing blue eyes.

"She's not good enough."

Emily's jaw all but dropped at that statement.

"That was uncalled for." She said, her voice thick. "Like it or not I'm your daughter. Jeesh, what, you think this is fun for me? God no! Ever since this morning, I've been tearing myself apart wondering what you'd be like and now I see that you're just an arrogant asshole! I'm not good enough? Fuck that,_ you_ aren't good enough!"

She drew in several breathes before continuing, "I lost my mother a fortnight ago. I don't need this bullshit right now!"

The room was caught with startled silence.

"I'm going to my friend's tonight. I'll be back tomorrow, and then we can sort everything out." She shook her head, gently pulling John aside from the door.

"Emily," Mycroft protested, starting after her.

"Don't come after me, you know I can out run you." Emily said, looking at him over her shoulder warningly.

"Listen, mummy will sort all of this out," He said, "We'll call her. We'll call her now. Mummy will sort it out."

"You sound like a little kid," Emily sighed.

"No, it's true. They're mother can be quite formidable," John protested, catching her wrist and dragging her back inside. "Trust me."

Sherlock scowled as Mycroft got out his phone and dialled before handing the phone to Sherlock.

"Mummy?" Sherlock sighed. A few minutes into the conversation, and Sherlock was beginning to look defeated.

He grumbled as he handed the phone back to Mycroft, who smiled victoriously as he talked into the phone, giving out the necessary pleasantries before hanging up.

"Right," Mycroft said, looking pleased with himself as he pocketed his phone. "Everything sorted."

With that, he walked out, leaving Emily alone with Sherlock and John.

John sighed, "I think we could all use a cuppa."

Both Sherlock and Emily nodded in agreement.

"How do you take it, Emily?"

She tried not to twitch at the dirty thought that flashed through her mind, and smiled slightly, "Um, milk and two sugers."

"Same as Sherlock, then." John muttered. "Oh, wait, strong or weak."

"Somewhere in-between." Emily shrugged. "I don't have a specific preference when it comes to strength."

"Right." John walked into the kitchen and started bustling around. Emily turned and caught sight of Sherlock's face. He didn't look as angry as she had thought he would, but still, the look was enough to give her the chills. She wandered into the kitchen and watched as John opened the fridge to retrieve the milk. She let out a startled noise, something caught between a yelp, a scream and a gasp.

"Is that. . . was that?" She wavered on her feet, staggering back and leaning against a counter. "Was it just me or was there a pair of feet in there?"

"Well, they weren't a pair," Sherlock said smoothly, entering the room. "But I'm pleased you reminded me they were there."

Emily shook her head slightly, trying to let the information sink in.

"There are. . . feet in the fridge." She said dreamily, "Yikes."

"Yeah, that's normal," John said, handing her the tea. The cup handle tilted in her hand and she steadied it automatically.

"It's normal to have feet in the fridge?" Emily said, shaking her head. The moment of shock was replaced with bewilderment. "Jeesh, have I stepped into the movie-verse of Saw?"

"No." Sherlock grunted, retrieving the feet from the fridge.

Emily sighed softly, brushing her hair back with a hand and taking a sip of tea with the other. She set the cup down and shook her head slightly.

"You'll sleep in my room tonight," Sherlock said testily, "With luck, Mrs Hudson will have a spare room somewhere in the building big enough to convert into a bedroom."

"That sounds fine with me." Emily agreed warily.

"Good." Sherlock replied, "Because that will happen if it's possible."

Emily hesitated.

"Oh come on, you're dying to ask me something." Sherlock said, his back turned to her as he fumbled with the feet.

"Um, yeah," Emily shrugged. "I was wondering. . . Mycroft mentioned something about a mind palace. I was wondering if you could explain what he meant."

Sherlock's gave a low grunt. "I could. But I can't be bothered, I'm too busy."

"Busy playing with_ feet_?" Emily retorted incredulously. "Feet that smell like they've been _pickled?"_

"No. I'm in the middle of an experiment. Go ask John. Shoo."

Emily frowned, "I'm not a puppy, saying "shoo" isn't going to make a difference."

That said, Emily picked up the tea, handling it cautiously and then retreated back the way she'd come, wandering towards John, who had sat down on a chair, watching the T.V.

She paused, suddenly noticing the skull on the mantle piece.

"I don't even want to know." She said mournfully, looking away from it.

John nodded slightly. "You'll get curious about it soon enough."

"With so much morbidity in this house, I imagine I'll get used to it soon enough." Emily sighed, sitting down on the floor next to him.

"Sad but true." John smiled.

"John, what's a mind palace?" There wasn't much point to beating around the bush when it came down to it.

John sighed, "Have you ever seen that film, the one based on the Stephen King book, called Dreamcatcher?"

"Yeah, my friend made me watch it once."

"Well, you know that guy that showed that had that house memory, with all his memories in it?"

"Jonesy, wasn't it? And yeah, I remember. He had to make room for more."

"Yeah, well basically, that's Sherlock. He puts his memories in specific places and when he remembers the places he remembers the things in them."

"That's quite cool. I think my Science teacher mentioned something about that in Biology. He was talking about synapses and stuff and how the more we think about things the stronger the synapse gets. or something along those lines."

John grinned, "Yeah, that's the trick."

Emily giggled, 'So, that's it?"

"Yup."

She paused, "I thought that it was supposed to be a familiar place, like a house. So, has he been to a palace or something?"

John shrugged, "Probably."

Emily paused. "Huh."

Emily slid the bag from her shoulder, suddenly remembering she was still wearing it, and retrieved her phone from her pocket.

**Change of plans, Abi. I'm staying here tonight. Some other time, yeah? Em. xx **

A few minutes later, a response arrived.

**Yeah, sure, lol. Abi xx**

Sliding her phone back in her pocket, Emily rested her head against the seat. Sherlock appeared at the door and sat down on the sofa.

John winced, suddenly. "I hope you like the violin."

Emily nodded, "Yeah. I like most classical instruments."

"Do you play any of them."

"Unfortunately, no. I tried to teach myself piano once, but I didn't have any way of properly learning. Most websites that offered free lessons wouldn't work at the Youth Club where the piano was, so I couldn't learn anything while I was there other than the intro to Bring Me To Life."

"Really?" Sherlock snorted, rolling his eyes.

"Really." Emily retorted.

John sighed, knocking his head back against the seat's headrest. "I'll get you some ear plugs. You'll need 'em."

Emily gave him a puzzled look. "Why?"

"Because he can play nicely, but he often chooses to torture his violin instead of play it."

Emily winced. "Ouch."

"Ouch doesn't cover it," John said grimly.

"Well, you don't need to get me ear plugs, at least." Emily said, tilting her head back to look at him. "I've got earphones and headphones. I go to sleep listening to music."

She grinned, retrieving her earphones and waving them, "Trust me, I've got this."

'So, where abouts are you in your schooling?" John asked suddenly, giving her a curious look.

"Um, I start college in September."

"College?" John repeated, humming slightly. "So how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Oh. You look older."

Emily smiled slightly, shrugging. "Yeah, I get that a lot."

Sherlock snorted.

"So, are you allergic to anything?" It seemed as though John was scrambling to make some form of conversation.

"Not that I know of," Emily said, giving Sherlock a nervous look. Sherlock gave her a smirk in response. Emily dug in her bag, bringing out a book and opening it to her marked page and began reading, occasionally looking up to see if Sherlock was still watching. Unnervingly, it looked as though he had not even moved.

Staring at him, she slowly put her earphones in and turned on,** ***"_Wishing You Were Here Again."_ The song had become her most frequently played, ever since the day her mother had passed. When she'd first heard, she'd retreated into her bedroom, curled up in her bed, playing the song on repeat for hours on end.

She ducked her head back down to her book, suddenly aware of the ache in her neck and also the lack of legs to her left. She glanced to her left, almost surprised to find that John had gone. She blinked, rubbing at her eyes. Her fingers came back smudged with black and she groaned, realising what she had done.

She looked up at Sherlock, who nodded towards an ajar door. She stood, setting the book down and padded into the bathroom, to wash her face and hands.

It was only when she'd splashed her face with water she realised she was actually tired. Not in the way you yourself realise you are tired, but the way your body starts to tell you it's tired.

Drying her face with a towel, she stifled a yawn and wandered back into the living room. She glanced at the door, surprised; she wasn't usually tired this early. But her day had been more trying than usual, she reasoned. She rubbed her eyes and sat back down, looking at the book.

"Um, can you tell me where your bedroom is, please?" She requested. Once more, Sherlock extended his arm, point towards a room with a closed-door.

"Thanks," Emily mumbled, standing and grabbing her bag. She walked in and closed the door gently behind her, changing into her pajamas. She padded through to the bathroom with her toothbrush and paste and brushed her teeth before returning to Sherlock's room. After running the brush through her hair, she stared at the bed.

The covers were a dark blue, and it appeared stiff and unyielding. She glanced around the room; it almost appeared like an organised mess. Her lips twitched slightly as she caught sight of the periodic table. She pulled back the covers slowly, nervously, inhaling the masculine scent. It felt wrong to even be doing this.

She shook her head and pulled the quilt cover back. It was too unnerving to sleep in his bed. She bit her lip as she exited the room, ready to give Sherlock Holmes her most pleading look.

"Um, can we switch, please? I don't really wanna sleep in your bed."

Sherlock paused. Emily wondered if he was trying to figure out which would torture her more- sleeping in his bed, or sleeping on the arm-chair. She hadn't quite dared breach the sofa quite yet. She didn't think he'd like that she'd had so much as her back against its side, let alone her whole body on its deck.

He unfolded his long limbs and strode over to the sofa, sitting on it. Emily curled up on the chair, crossing her arms as a pillow. Despite her newly apparent tiredness, it took her some time to relax properly.

Her eyes fluttered slowly and eventually she fell asleep. She was woken a mere ten minutes later to a horrible screeching noise that sounded like somebody was wringing a very noisy, struggling cat's neck.

She made a low noise in the back of her throat, clasping her hands over her ears.

"God, what the hell is that noise?" She cried, opening her eyes. She looked ahead of her to see Sherlock dragging a bow across a violin slowly and painfully at an angle in quick jerks of his arm.

She stumbled from the seat, standing up and staggering into his bedroom. She dipped her hand into her bag, bringing out her phone and earphones. She collapsed on top of the bed, too tired to care. She turned on her music, putting the ear buds into her ears and closed her eyes. Soothing music sounded, lulling her to sleep in a mere few minutes.

*****_"Emily will find a better place to fall asleep, she belongs to fairy tales that I could never be. . ."_

The next time Emily woke up, it was late afternoon. Stretching out, she slid off the bed and dressed in her clothes. She wondered idly when her things were going to brought around. She went into the bathroom, ignoring the man that was still sat on the sofa, a violin case stretched out before his feet, and went into the bathroom, bag in hand.

When she came out the bathroom, cleaner and considerably neater than when she had first went in, she felt a lot better than she felt better than she had before.

"I'm bored," Sherlock all but growled, glaring at her.

Emily shrugged slightly in response. "There isn't anything I can do about that."

She sat in the armchair, crossing her legs and leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand.

"Out of interest, what is there to do around here?"

"Cases."

"Cases?"

"Yes. I love a good murder."

"Oh, I see." Emily said, suddenly remembering the feet in the fridge. She swallowed slightly, absently fidgeted with her hands.

"So, you do what exactly?"

He all but puffed himself up, and her lips twitched.

"What's funny?" Sherlock asked, eyes narrowing.

"Um, it's just your brother does that."

Sherlock snorted. "Whatever."

Emily leant back, crossing her legs. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

Sherlock eyed her suspiciously. "I am the world's only consulting detective. The police consult me about cases when they are out of their debt." He smirked. "Which is usually."

"Wow." Emily said, relaxing slightly.

Sherlock snorted slightly. "So, you said you were going to college? Are you going to do A levels or a course?"

"A levels."

"What subjects?"

"Art-"

"Pointless."

"English language-"

"Are you intending to go into a writing job?"

"If I can. Um, Sociology-"

"Ridiculous," Sherlock dismissed.

"Creative writing."

"Once again; pointless. Useless." He snorted. "What _are_ you going to do with your life?"

Emily shrugged, feeling somewhat despondant- her mother had always supported her so long as Emily had a job during her book writing.

"I want to an author." She said quietly.

Once again, Sherlock snorted. Emily looked away, embarassed and humilated.

"Please, even if you do write a book, it's doubtful people will buy it."

"I'll write a book that appeals to a wide variety of audience, like, at the minute, vampires are very popular. Magic has always been popular, dark fearie tales always make for a good read. . . " She trailed off.

There was a low popping noise, and Sherlock delved into his pocket, checking his phone. He snorted, stashing the phone back in his pocket.

"Who was-"

"John."

"Oh. Um, are you two, um-"

"No."

"Okay."

Emily brushed her hair back with a hand, shrugging her shoulders.

"I think I'm gonna go see Abbey for a while."

"Really?" Sherlock questioned, standing. "I'm curious about your friends. Maybe I can make them go away."

"_What?"_

"Friends are sentiment. Sentiment only causes trouble."

"You're not getting rid of my friends," Emily said, voice coloured with surprise, "You couldn't even if you tried." She headed towards the door, "Besides, _you_ have a friend. And sentiment has value to me!"

Sherlock raised a brow, sitting back down. "If you say so."

**So, this was a weird thing to write and I get the terrible feeling people are somewhat OOC. I hope they aren't, but I've only seen A Study in Pink and the Hounds of Baskerville, so I don't really know. Anyway, I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter and will review and give me your thoughts. **

***Wishing You were Here Again is a song from the Phantom of the Opera, in case you don't know. I really love it. **

***I love this song. Seriously, check it out. It's called Trading Yesterday by Love Song Requiem. I had to use it- the irony was just too much to resist for me. **

***I think that now Sherlock has to accept he has a daughter (Apparantly the Holmes boys don't like upsetting mummy) and because of that, he's going to try and instill his own drives into her; you know, try and make her like him, e.g, seperating her from sentiment. Of course, he's going to try teach her his sort of thing and whatnot.**

***I know that it jumps kinda emotionally, despite my trying to make it realistic. I'm sorry about that. **

**I don't know. I just hope you liked it. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys! Thanks for the feedback! I really appreciate it. I'll do more describing in this chapter, since the little things are often the most important, as we all know. I'm going to be using your reviews in future chapters, so don't worry if you ask for anything and it doesn't come immediately. :)**

Emily sat down on Abbey's bed, her fingers skimming over the covers. They were the same design of her bag, a dark red and white patchwork with the roses and skulls in the white blocks. It was almost ironic that she'd bought the bag and then come back to Abbey's to discover the quilt.

They'd both had quite the laugh at it.

Leaning forward, Emily drew her feet up onto the bed, pulling herself against the red, poster clad walls.

"So, how're you doing?" Abbey asked, tilting her head as she sat down beside her, tilting her head slightly. Her dyed-black hair bounced over her shoulders at the tilting motions, curls spiralling down. Her pale blue-grey eyes met Emily's, concerned and sympathetic.

"I haven't seen you much the last few weeks."

Emily shrugged slightly, inhaling. The room, a familiar place to Emily, smelt the same as it always did; a mingled smell of scented hairspray and various deodorants.

"I guess I'm fine."

Abbey cocked a brow, her new lip piercing (She'd gotten it shortly after leaving Secondary School and finishing her exams) glinting softly in the light. It quite suited her.

"I guess you're not if you have to guess you're alright," She said simply, her voice drawling slightly.

Emily shrugged again, folding her arms around her knees. "I can't really tell my feelings apart these days. My stomach always feel tight, like I'm about to throw up.I always feel lonely and sad. My eyes always sting, and I keep. . ." She bit her lip hard, closing her eyes. She inhaled sharply, opening them.

"I keep crying." Her voice croaked and wavered, and red-painted walls wavered around her as her eyes filled with tears.

Abbey dragged her into a hug, her head nestling against Emily's neck. Emily's arms wrapped around her friend's bony shoulder.

'It's alright, Em." She murmured, patting her back gently. A hiccough tore from Emily's throat as tears coursed down her cheeks.

"I just can't stop," She cried, "I just can't stop. I just want my mum back."

"I know, I know." Abbey whispered. She withdrew from the hug slightly, her hands still resting on her shoulders. "Listen, Jordan, Sam and Beth are coming around tomorrow. You should come too. We've missed you."

Emily wiped her tears away, gasping in soft breaths. Abbey leaned herself against the wall and pulled Emily against her gently, hugging her.

"Okay?"

Emily nodded weakly, still wiping her tears away with her hands.

"'kay," She whispered.

A look of relief crossed over Abbey's face. "Good. You need us right now. We won't leave you."

Breathing unevenly, Emily closed her eyes for a few seconds. She could feel Abbey's spindly ribs pressed against her own, feel the soft black velvety vest top that she was wearing and the soft pleated material of her skirt. She could even feel the bed dip under the weight of Abbey's heavy goth boots.

Compared to Abbey, Emily almost felt under-dressed in her ripped jeans and sleeveless tie dye grey and black top. The thin circlet of lace around her throat was almost similar to the leather one that Abbey herself was adorned with.

Emily took in a few deep breaths and opened her eyes, sitting up slowly. "I'm sorry,"

Abbey shook her head. "Don't be. You've nothing to be sorry for. It's not your fault."

"I should've been there," Emily said quietly.

"You couldn't have known."

"I knew she was sick."

"Still couldn't have known," Abbey sighed, sitting up beside her friend. Her hair was tousled, and Emily was pretty certain that her own hair was faring no better.

"You need to accept that, Em."

Emily said nothing to that, merely glancing at the clock on the wall. Her eyes skimmed by the pile of homemade toys that (Abbey had made them from a fantastically plush woollen material- it was, Emily paused, squinting slightly- Felt, if she recalled correctly.) nested at the end of her bed.

Having taken Textiles as a GCSE, Emily could recount quite a few materials at will.

Abbey noticed her looking over the plush teddies and plucked out a bat-shaped one with black Faux Fur around its torso, Felt for the arms and head and little feet and various decorative materials for it's face and wings, and handed it to Emily.

Emily stroked the faux fur absently.

"You can take it back with you," Abbey said lazily, leaning back on her bed.

Emily glanced at her and looked away, blushing.

"Pull your skirt down, Abbey." She said, "I don't really want to know what kind of knickers your wear."

Abbey laughed, tugging at her skirt. Emily hesitated, her hands clasping around the little bat as she stared into its sewn on anime-like eyes.

"Are you sure, Abbey?"

"Course."

There was a soft moment of silent, before Emily cleared her throat, mumbling, "Thanks."

"It's okay." Abbey shrugged.

Emily cleared her throat, standing up. She glanced in the mirror on Abbey's wall; looking at her tear-streaked reflection.

'Sorry I pretty much had a mental break down."

Abbey shrugged again, swinging her legs down the side of the bed as she sat up. 'Meh. It's fine. I understand."

Emily looked at the clock and released a low sigh, "I guess I'd better get going."

Abbey gave her a sympathetic look, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Emily sighed. 'It's better we get used to each other."

"Oh, don't forget the bat!" Abbey called as she reached the door. Emily turned around, yelping when the bat flew at her. She caught it automatically, squeezing its soft body in her hands.

"Yikes, Abbey," Emily groaned, "Don't do that."

She stooped down, picking out the bat carefully. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep. If you don't arrive, we'll assume you've been murdered and go sleuthing for your murderer."

Emily winced. "Gee, thanks."

She walked out the door and down the stairs, heading out towards her new, "Home."

When she arrived back there (After her google map getting her lost a few times) she sat down on the sofa, hugging the bat to herself and feeling somewhat numb and dejected at the same time.

Sherlock came through from the kitchen, his curly hair mussed and face set into a grimace. There were strong smudges of a black ash-like substance over his face, shoulders and upper torso. It looked as though he'd had a fight with an ashtray. An explosive one.

"Um, are you okay?" Emily asked, her grip tightening over the bat.

"Fine," He snapped out bitterly. "I got what I wanted."

Emily didn't even want to know what he'd got that merited all the ash all over his shoulder/ torso.

"Where's John?"

"The clinic."

"Is something-"

"He's a doctor."

Emily inhaled deeply, trying to quash the rising offence at his continuous interrupting.

"It isn't polite to interrupt." She said, trying to keep her calm as he fixed his piercing blue eyes on hers.

"I'm aware of the niceties of society," Sherlock bit out, his teeth gleaming stark white as he flashed her a sarcastic smile, "I just don't have the patience to follow them." He leant forwards, "There are many things I don't have patience for."

Emily's brows drew together and her own lips parted as her teeth gritted in irritation and anger. "Yeah. I get it. You don't like me. You don't have the patience for a teenager. Well, whatever. Get over it."

"For a teenager, you're very outspoken," Sherlock interjected, "I think your mother must have been very tolerant of you."

"No," She gritted, "My mum loved me. She accepted me for who I am, and she happened to want me to be confidant in myself so I take on people like you and come out triumphant."

Sherlock smirked, 'And do you feel triumphant, Emily?" He said, his voice a sarcastic whispered drawl.

She shivered slightly, her brown eyes wide, pupils slightly dilated in fear. They returned to their normal size after she blinked.

Her lips trembled slightly, pursing around the word, "No." She didn't say the word however, her lips merely dropping back down to their normal relaxed position.

Sherlock's lips curved, almost in a predatory fashion, "Speak up. I couldn't hear you. I think it was a, "_No_," wasn't it?"

Emily shook her head, running her tongue over her upper lip before meeting his gaze.

"Not at all." She retorted, forcing herself to keep eye contact and not dip her eyes down or look away- eyes were one of the easiest things to tell when you're lying.

"Hmm." Sherlock leant back. "I asked Mrs Hudson about a spare room. She says that she has one you can use- it's downstairs, to the left of the door. She says that you can use it and redecorate it."

Emily couldn't help the low sigh of relief to pass through her lips.

"However, first Mrs Hudson wants to move her things out of the room. I imagine you and John will help her."

Emily shrugged, "I don't mind helping." She stood. "I think I'll go check it out, if it's all the same to you."

Sherlock stood up languidly. "By all means." He started to walk to the door, his hand gently pushing at the space between her shoulder blades to hasten her on.

"Mycroft called," He continued, "He says that when the rooms cleared he'll have all your things brought down. At the moment he has them in storage, along with a few things your mother left to you."

Emily tread down the stairs lightly, wary at the soft creaks the stairs gave off. She didn't usually notice them, seeing as she usually just ran down them, but when the moment were as terse as it was, and it felt like Sherlock's hand against her back was more so that he could push her off the edge of the stairs then guide her and hasten her down them.

"Okay. Thanks for telling me."

Sherlock awkwardly patted the back of, well, back, and she immediately threw out her arms in alarm, clinging to the wall and banister.

"Can you not do that while we're going down stairs? It kinda scares me." Her voice was slightly pitched, her heart beating quickly in her chest.

She practically felt Sherlock's stare. "Why? Do you think that I'm going to push you down?"

"I don't know. I mean, seriously? You seem the kinda guy that could, if you wanted to."

She could feel her heart pound as his voice came from behind her, closer than she had anticipated.

Sherlock snorted. "Please. If I wanted to kill you, I'd make sure that you weren't here, and make it seem like the perfect accident."

Emily trotted down the stairs quickly, hearing him coming down from behind her. Arriving at the bottom, she held up her hands, having felt the soft as muck dust smudge off against her hands on her way down. She wiped her hands down her jeans, suppressing a shudder.

*She glanced back up the darkened hallway, trying to ignore Sherlock's tall stature blocking her view and his elongated shadow behind him.

The wallpaper was a musty old-fashioned one, a dark velvety green, patterned with an odd little flowery design. The carpet was a dark brown. A single bulb dangled in the middle of the hallway, giving off a low glow.

"Emily, please move on," Sherlock said, quite clearly bored with her. Emily moved back, looking at the door beside the door.

"Well, go on. Open it."

Emily reached out, her hand touching the plain white door knob, opening the brown door. She swallowed at the sight within. The room was a good size- but she really, really hoped that it was re-decorated before she moved in. And cleaned. Cleaned with heavy-duty elephant brushes.

She swallowed. The room was filled with three old antique wardrobes, several old brass objects, lots of frilly, feminine sheets and a huge pile of old-fashioned clothes. There were several boxes of photographs, most black and white and several other random boxes of junk.

Overall, the room was a dusty, dirty, cobweb decorated, junk filled thing that stank of must and dirt in general.

"Looks like it'll take some cleaning up," She said, sounding miserable. Sherlock patted her back, giving her a broad, fake-looking smile.

"Well, good luck with it."

Emily let out a low groan. "Good luck my ass."

The door opened and John staggered in, looking exhausted.

"Hi, John." Emily greeted.

"Hey. You two finally getting along?"

"In a manner of speaking." Emily said hollowly.

John glanced into the room, his expression souring as his nose picked up the musty scent of ageing clothes and mothballs.

"Yikes," He shuddered. He looked at Emily, wrinkling his nose. "Mrs Hudson wasn't kidding when she said it was a mess." He sighed, smiling at her, 'Don't worry, Em. I'll help you with it."

"Thanks," Emily said, looking relieved. She smiled, her brown eyes glistening with worry. "It'll be a job and a half." She snapped her fingers suddenly, "Oh! I can ask my friends to help out- if that's alright, of course."

"Yeah, sure," John shrugged.

Emily smiled, "Thanks, John."

Her arms crossed slightly, and she tilted her head. Her eyes contacts had been itching ever since this afternoon's crying episode, and about now it was becoming unbearable. She made her way back upstairs to her bag, retrieving her glasses.

She rinsed her hands in the bathroom, cleansing them of dust, and reached up to her face, sliding the small lenses out. She blinked, splashing cold water against her eyes before opening her glasses case. She slid on her glasses, grimacing at her reflection.

"Em, you okay?" John asked from outside the bathroom.

"Yeah," Emily called out, opening the door. "Just putting my glasses on."

"Oh, I was just checking, you look like you might have been. . . ahem, uh, crying earlier."

Emily sighed, her eyes dropping away from John.

"Yeah. I. . ." She shrugged slightly. "I was just a little upset."

She sighed softly. John nodded, his blue eyes soft, "It's okay to have moments like that, Em."

She nodded, her head still ducked down.

She raised it hesitantly, biting the inside of her cheek. "Um, do you want a cup of tea?"

He grinned, "I'd love one."

As they both retreated into the kitchen, Emily took the moment to observe him as he pulled two lime green mugs from a cupboard, pausing before bringing out a third, rolling his eyes. He looked tired, with slight purple bruising under his eyes, as though he hadn't slept. He was straight, but looked as though he could easily hunch forward and collapse face down onto the counter.

"Sherlock." He said, shrugging. Emily took the translucent tea bag jar and unscrewed it, dipping her hand in and bringing out two tea bags.

John frowned slightly, "Why two?"

"Because I like tea ridiculously weak, but I don't like it sweet. I didn't see you put sugar in yours yesterday, so I assumed that if I sorted my tea out, you could have the bag before it diffused properly." She shrugged. "It saves on tea bags. My and my mum used to do it."

John's frowned smoothed away and he nodded. "Oh. I see."

They sorted out the tea, Emily flinching, face scrunching at the sight of the feet, now seemingly half exploded from the Achilles heel outwards. It was a good thing she had a hard stomach and strong gag reflex.

"Ick," She whispered, her mouth puckered into an unhappy line. She put the milk back, shuddering slightly.

"Why doesn't he have another mini fridge for all the body parts?" She moaned, slightly queasy.

John shrugged, "I doubt he'd use it even if I tried getting him one."

"He does seem stubborn," Emily sighed, biting her lip and pulling it back under her teeth to chew on it.

"Oh, just wait till he gets a case. He drags you along like you're his puppy dog and makes you beg and fetch for any answers you didn't manage to pick up on yourself."

Emily winced. "At least that won't happen to me."

John grinned, "Just for that, I'm making sure you come along for the next case." He leaned forward constitutionally, "You'll get very little sleep staying here anyway when Sherlock gets back from the crime scene. Trust me- the violin comes out to play."

"Violently?" Emily asked delicately, shuddering at the memory of the previous night.

"Worse than last night. Why do you think I'm so tired?"

Emily grimaced. "Oh god."

"You know I can hear you two nattering away about me, don't you?" Sherlock asked, walking in, grabbing his cup of tea and making off with it.

"Of course we know," Emily said, walking into the living room and curling up the armchair. "That's why we do it."

"So, what do you want to eat?" John asked, walking in. "I'm getting hungry, and I don't even know when you last ate."

"She ate two days ago," Sherlock said, bored. "She hasn't been eating much since her mother passed."

"Explain," John sighed.

"She changed into the white top yesterday, upon anticipating Mycroft, subconsciously attempting to impress. There aren't any food stains- unless she's extremely meticulous about the manner in which she eats, which I doubt- she hasn't eaten in the last two days."

Sherlock steepled his chin, staring at her. "You'll note that she hasn't actually mentioned about eating, unlike you, and that coupled with the recent loss, it's likely that she has been picking at her food recently, not had much of an appetite. Her stomach's shrank slightly, I'd imagine." He shrugged slightly, turning to Emily.

"Confirm or dissipate the notion, Emily." He ordered.

Like a robot, Emily spoke, "Affirmed notion." Mockingly, she saluted him. She flashed him a grin, "Hey, Sherlock- feel triumphant."

Sherlock scowled while John just looked confused.

"Never mind, John," Emily sighed, patting his arm gently. "You and I will one day have jokes, or angry silences that he won't understand."

John's lips twitched. "I guess so."

Emily gave a low sigh, kicking her legs over the side of the armchair's armrest. Her head hung over the other edge and she wriggled, getting herself comfortable so she could get a good view of the T.V, albeit an upside down view.

She stared at the T.V for a while, trying to get comfy. The blue material of it scratched against her skin as she moved and she winced. She paused as she properly looked at the screen. Hmmph. She couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips as she recognised it; Pan's Labyrinth. Film4's Frightfest must be on again. She checked the time; quarter to ten.

"I like this film," She smiled, her hands entwining. "Del Toro's a good director."

"Do you speak Spanish?" Sherlock asked, cocking his head.

"No," She sighed. "I endeavour to learn these things, but time and money call my wanting moot."

She curled up, propping her head up on her elbows. Her dark eyes watched, almost immediately entranced with the film.

"I didn't used to like subtitles, but after I got in anime and some foreign films, I got used to it." Her voice was a low, heady murmur by this point, husky and soft as she drifted out of Sherlock and John's conversation and completely into the film.

She watched a young Ivana Banquo lift up bloodied fingers, her eyes sad. She'd once written an essay on Pan's Labyrinth in Film Studies, about the camera work and colours and lighting and everything used in the film and the symbolic reasons behind it. It was an interesting experience. Her nanna had hated the film- she wasn't one for exploding frogs and weird guys with eyes on their hands.

She smiled. Her mum had loved the film. Her smile froze as Ofelia fell. The last thing she needed to see was Ofelia's death. Not now.

She turned her head away slightly, still enough to see the screen but enough to distance herself slightly. She noticed that Sherlock was looking at her and set her expression carefully blank, despite already knowing he'd seen the pain, read it in her eyes, in her expression.

She turned back, watching as Ophelia was adorned as the Princess of the Underworld. In an interview, Del Toro had said that she had actually gone back to her faerie tale kingdom, and none of it had actually just been a fantasy. She kinda loved him for saying that.

The film's credits started rolling and she brushed her hands across her cheeks, making sure they hadn't mysteriously gotten damp. She returned to her previous evening's activities; going into the bathroom and cleaning herself, brushing her teeth, brushing her hair, changing into her pajama's, a pair of comfortable sleeping shorts and vest top. She curled up on the armchair, ignoring that she was trembling.

She put in her earphones, giving Sherlock a deliberate _don't even_ look as she started her playlist. For a while, she didn't sleep, just rested her head on her arms and watched him, eyes half closed as she listened to her music.

She saw John yawn and stagger off to his room, sparing her a confused look. He was likely wondering why she was curled up on the seat instead of the bed that Sherlock had been made to offer her.

Sherlock rolled his eyes as though the sight of her irritated him and pointed to his room, clearly trying to scold her in a mute fashion, as you would a dog. Emily raised a brow and shook her head tiredly.

He didn't seem to like that she wasn't doing as he wanted to, but Emily didn't particularly care.

He crouched in front of her, snapping his fingers in front of her face. Emily reached up and tugged her earphones out.

"What?"

"Go to bed." He scowled, "I don't want to see you. I need to think. Trust me, you're only marginally better than Anderson, and that's not a compliment."

"What do you need to think about?" Emily asked, sitting up slightly and stretching out her tired limbs.

Sherlock scowled, refusing to say anything. She raised a brow and slouched back down. Apparently, Sherlock was at the end of his tether. he reached out, and with a strength that was completely opposite his wiry form, he lifted her.

She gave a startled cry as he moved, struggling.

"Stop it!" She yelped.

He walked through his open bedroom door and dumped her on the bed. She scrambled to her feet, her eyes narrowing and sharpening.

"What the hell!" She hissed.

"I need room to think in, and I can't think with you around; you're too much of an unwarranted distraction." Sherlock replied.

"I usually think in the living room. You're tired, and the armchair isn't comfortable, so just use my bed and stop distracting me with your presence."

"How am I a distraction?"

"You irritate me!"

"_I_ irritate _you?_ _You_ irritate _me!"_

"Oi! Shut up you two!" John yelled from the next room.

Emily let out a frustrated scream, hurling a pillow at Sherlock, "My god, I will destroy you! With pillows, if I have to!"

The sad thing was she looked perfectly serious about it, looking as angry as she did.

"Please don't- destroy him tomorrow. I _really_ need my sleep."

It was John's energy sapped voice that did her in. She sighed, the anger seeping from her expression as she relaxed them.

"Sorry, John," She called quietly. She pointed at him and opened her mouth, ready to hiss out, in a really cliché way, this isn't over. Except the pillow Sherlock threw at her face kinda cut her off. She gaped in surprise, staring at the now empty doorway. The door closed by itself and she sighed.

"Can you at least give my earphones and phone?" She asked quietly, more to herself than anything. A few minutes later, the door opened and the phone was tossed at her, earphones wrapped neatly around it.

"Thank you."

She re-sorted her playlist and lay back on the bed, nervously, almost afraid to properly stretch out. Music played in her ears and she sighed, mouthing the words softly to herself.

_"She'd sympathise and dry your eyes and help you to forget. Help you to forget. Help you to forget. . . "_

She sighed softly, closing her eyes, still half-awake, but also half-asleep. Eventually, she crawled under the covers, pulling them over her shoulders and wrapping herself in them like a cocoon, her eyes closing as she fell asleep.

**Hey, guys, once again thank you for your feedback. I attempted upon more detail, but it didn't seem to work out very well. Also, as mentioned, I've only seen two episodes (Study in Pink/ Hounds of the Baskervilles) so does anyone have any ideas about what case I should use? Or should I just make one up on my own. **

***Some things I had to take liberty with, such as the hallway and stuff, seeing as I haven't seen it for myself that I can recall. As such, please don't freak out about the changes in house structure and decor. *If you mind too much, let me know the description so I can change it**

***Anyone else think Emily's not gonna be pleased when she finds out who Anderson is?**

***The song is Ophelia by Natalie Merchant. Enjoy. **

**So once again, sorry the chapter's a little short, hope I didn't OOC it too badly, hope you enjoyed, bla bla bla, please review. :) Thanks. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey guys, thank you for the reviews. They were helpful, and now I know where abouts I am in the Sherlock-verse. I'm thinking, "The Great Game," episode, as it would mean that**

**Sherlock and John have an already based friendship, and it's the episode where we ****actually begin with the Moriarty bases and get to dig Emily into their world, so to speak. **

**I don't know if that will begin in this chapter, but who knows? Maybe, maybe not. :)**

Emily opened her eyes, immediately surprised to find that her vision was still clear. Her hands raised, touching the bridge of her glasses. Oh. Well, that explained everything. She stretched, sitting up slowly and turning slightly.

She crawled out of bed, pausing slightly. A bag, one of her old ones, had been left at the door, stuffed to the brim with clothes.

Emily grabbed the bag, undoing the bag straps and pulling out her clothes, a bottle of perfume and deodorant. The perfume was unfamiliar; perhaps Mycroft's way of trying make her seem more frowned, squirting some on her wrist and inhaling softly.

It smelt nice, like lily flowers. She rubbed her wrists together, and then ran her hands through her pile of clothes, plucking out several outfits. She sighed, stroking the familiar material lovingly. Lace and fish net met her fingers gently.

She collected a pair of black skinny jeans,a lacy black top with a low neck line, and a Emily Strange cardigan and went to the bathroom, ignoring the pouting Sherlock. She washed and dressed herself quickly before exiting.

She walked towards Sherlock, who, before she could say anything about last night's events, said, quite clearly, "Tea, Emily."

Emily paused, confused. "What?'

"Tea. Make me tea."

Emily frowned, "At the very least, you could have said please." She pointed out, "Besides, why should I? You were a total ass last night."

Sherlock snorted. "Irrelevant."

Emily cocked a brow, her hands on her hips. "No, not really. If you offend, you make amends."

She glanced at clock, happy to find that it wasn't too late- just past nine.

"You're going out this evening," Sherlock said boredly, cocking his head. "John's going out tonight." He let out a deep seated sigh, "I'm going to be bored."

"You're bored when we're here; we don't make much of a difference."

"You're a distraction. Arguing makes me less bored."

Emily paused by the kitchen door, looking back at him. A slight V was grooved between her eyebrows. She wasn't sure how to react to his statement.

"Is there anything I can eat in here?" She asked, biting her lip. Sherlock grunted. "Obvious. It's a kitchen, most things in it are edible." He paused, giving her a crude smirk, "Even the feet."

Emily swallowed slighly, trying not allow her mind to envisage herself cutting up a foot with a knife and fork.

"Yuck," She whispered, shivering delicately. Her appetite rather suddenly gone (It had barely been there in the first place) Emily turned back into the living room, sitting down.

"Pass me John's laptop." Sherlock ordered, glancing at the laptop to her left. She shrugged, lifting the open laptop and handing it to Sherlock.

Sherlock grabbed John's laptop, resting it on his lap. He scanned down the screen with his eyes.

'Anything interesting?" Emily asked, frowning. She wasn't wholly certain that Sherlock was allowed to use John's laptop, but she doubted it.

Sherlock grunted. "The writing on this is atrtoscious. It looks as though he never learnt how to write."

Emily grimaced, "Oh, I hate that. I once read this fanfiction that was just awful; it butchered the English language and all the grammer laws possible. The character's were out of character, the main character's name changed constantly. . . " She trailed off, shuddering. "She was such an awful Mary Sue of a character."

Sherlock set down the laptop, scowling slightly.

"Bored."

Emily inhaled, leaning back against her armchair.

"Yeah. I know," She sighed. She stretched, cracking her back.

Sherlock leant in suddenly, "I'll have to use you to stave off my boredom." He stared at her intently.

"Did you know that most fanfiction is a product of the Id-"

"Yes." Emily sighed, "I researched Mary Sues and the connection to the Id shortly after I started reading fanfiction." She shrugged, "I used to write some fanfiction, but. . . I haven't felt the want to, recently."

The front door opened suddenly and Mycroft walked in. He smiled down at her in an almost condescending manner, "I see you received the clothes I had sent down. I thought you would need them considering you only had a few clothes with you."

"Yes, thank you." Emily responded.

"And the perfume is just something I had my secretary collect," Mycroft continued, shrugging. "Just a small gift."

Emily nodded, smiling tightly. He was beginning to grate of her last nerve. "Yes. Thanks."

With that, Mycroft sat down, setting his umbrella down beside him.

"We need to talk." He began, turning his attention to Sherlock. Sherlock, for his part, seemed to ignore Moriarty.

"Understandable." Sherlock said, "You are a sentimental person; I imagine you doubt anything you write would come out in a pleasing manner to commemorate anything than a supposedly sad and mortal scene."

Mycroft scowled, glaring back Emily. Emily shrugged slightly, crossing her legs.

"No. I could write, but I just don't want to. It'll pass."

Sherlock smirked, "If you're going to be an author, it'll have to pass quickly. College comes soon, doesn't it?"

Emily nodded slightly, fidgeting slightly with the sleeves of her top.

"Sherlock-" Mycroft tried to speak again, gritting his teeth at his brother's impertinence. Emily stood up and wandered into the kitchen. She opened the fridge and stared at the feet as she reached for the milk, beginning to make herself and Sherlock a cup of tea. She'd ask Mycroft in a minute, but right now she just wanted a cup of tea.

And she didn't like making a cuppa with a tea bag in it for too long. She liked passing along the teabag so that the flavour (And as such, money) wasn't wasted.

She handed the cup to Sherlock, who took a sip and nodded. Mycroft reached out and took the other cup, taking a sip. Emily stared, a confused _what the hell_ look expressed on her face.

"Ah, nice and sweet. Little bit too weak though."

Emily took the offered cup back, still staring.

"Yeah, that was mine," She said, sighing through her nose. Mycroft looked at her.

"Oh. Well that explains it."

"I was going to ask how you took your tea, but I guess this answers my question." She put her spare hand on her hip, "One might wonder why you would take a cup of tea without asking if it's yours."

She walked into the kitchen and set the mug down before returning, checking the time on the clock. Half past Nine.

"So, what time does John get off work?"

Sherlock shrugged. Mycroft said nothing, merely passing a glance towards her. Emily sighed.

"Yeah, I'm gonna disappear," She glanced at the clock again, "About two hours should be long enough, I think. I'll be with Beth."

"Don't go on his account," Sherlock said lazily.

Emily shrugged, "It's not on his account." She responded, shaking her hair from her face. "I just haven't seen them in a while, and Beth's one of my best friends."

"I would have assumed to that to be your Abigail. Nice bat, by the way."

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Emily said, smiling at the bat, which she'd left on the small coffee table beside the armchair; the same place, coincidentally, John had left his laptop.

Mycroft shot it a disdainful look.

Emily shot him one back. She took her phone from her pocket and sent a text to Beth.

**U up to anything? Wanna hang out?**

She inhaled, leaning against the wall.

**Nah. Not doing anything till l8er. Abbey said u would be there, lol.**

She smiled slightly, texting a response.

"See you guys later."

"Oh, Emily," Mycroft said suddenly. Emily stopped, turning slightly. "Mummy wants to meet you. I'll sort out a time when Sherlock, John, Mummy and I are all available."

Emily shrugged, "So long as I'm available too."

That said, she put her phone back in her pocket and grabbed her phone, putting her earphones it and putting on her playlist, track five; Shot in the Dark by Within Temptation.

She exited the house and started jogging lightly as she set up a route to Beth's house via Google maps. It was further away than Abbey's house, but she didn't particually care; she wanted to jog, to do something that would loosen herself up.

The temperature of London seemed to have cooled down somewhat, sending soft chills down her spine and raising goosebumps on her arms. She shivered, brushing her hair back from her face. Her muscles ached from the strain of the jog; her body needed to get used to exercising again.

Her hair bounced on her shoulders as she started jogging again, ignoring the building stitch in her ribs. She felt weak and dizziness seeped into her vision. She drew to a stop, leaning against a fence as she got her breath back.

Her stomach churned slightly and she felt a streak of perspiration drip down her spine. She shuddered brushing her hand at the back of her top. Sticky. She winced at the feeling.

She started to walk, dragging her feet slightly. She distantly recognised the change in song but couldn't recall what it was. She checked her phone. She had barely even reached a quarter of the way. She pressed a hand against her heart, rubbing at the organ and feeling it thud in a sickening manner inside her chest.

She carried on, building back up to a jog. She was slightly dazed, and as a result, not very steady in her running. It almost felt like she was drunk.

By the time she arrived, she was a shaking mess. Her skin was pale, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright. Her body was trembling and she was covered in a light layer of sweat. With the amount of stop and rest time she had participated in, she had taken a long time just to get here.

She clenched her fist, trying to control her shaking as she knocked on the door. Beth opened it, her mouth already open and saying, _"Hi,"_ even as she caught sight of her.

"Hey Beth," Emily said, flashing her a weak grin. Beth smiled back, her soft blue eyes taking Emily in. She reached out, taking Emily into a warm hug. Beth was only slightly bigger than Emily and certainly more than a little taller. Her blonde hair, cut into lots of thick lovely fluffed up layers that reminded Emily of a Phoenix's face, with feathers curled around it, had a new blue streak in it Emily hadn't recalled her getting.

Today she was wearing a white and blue knit sweater and a pair of dark blue jeans. She wore no jewellery, and her feet were trainer-clad.

They broke off the hug, giving each other shy smiles.

"It's been a while," Emily said, crossing her arms slightly and hugging herself.

"Yeah," Beth agreed, stepping aside and allowing her entrance into her home. Emily stepped in, immediately feeling a warm heat sinking into her skin.

"Oh, warm," She breathed, closing her eyes and shivering slightly.

Beth grinned again, pulling her up the wooden stairs quickly towards her bedroom. Unlike Abbey, Beth wasn't really a settled thing in terms of style; she was a bit of this and a bit of that, and more than a little quirky.

Her room was a deep Cadbury purple, with lots of fairy lights, a few posters and lots of her own paintings decorating the walls. She never liked to turn on the actual light bulb, preferring the fairy lights; the soft purple and pinks gave the room an eerie, soft light.

She pulled Emily down one of her latest drawings, two people connected by an odd winding breathing tube between that connected to mouths and noses. they were both wearing gas masks, and were both clinging to each other, looking up.

"Oh wow," Emily breathed, "Beth, that's awesome."

Beth, ever the modest, ducked her head shyly and smiled, "Thanks, Em."

The two sat down together, Emily watching quietly as Beth picked up a pen and started to add more detail to the military-like clothing the two men were wearing.

"So, how are you doing?" Beth asked quietly.

Emily hesitated, remembering what had happened when Abbey had asked her.

"I'm doing better," She said finally. "Thanks."

Beth smiled sadly. "I am sorry about your mum. I really liked her, she was really nice."

Emily nodded, bowing her head slightly, determined not to cry. Either seeing this or sensing it, Beth cleared her throat.

"So how's your dad? What's he like?"

Emily gave a slightly broken laugh, "Well, he's sure as hell different."

Beth nodded, giving Emily a slightly sheepish look. "I hope you don't mind, but I looked him up. He's quite famous around here, you know."

Emily frowned, "What do you mean?" She asked, feeling perplexed.

"Well. . ." Beth hesitated and then dragged her laptop out from under her bunk beds. She opened it and typed into the browser, showing Emily the results.

"Woah," Emily said, her eyes wide with surprised as she looked down the google page. The results of his name were extremely plentiful, with more than a thousand results.

"John Watson even writes a blog about their cases."

"Oh, the cases. Yeah, Sherlock mentioned something about them."

"Well," Beth continued, "Check it out." She clicked out a link labelled _John Watson's blog. _

Emily blinked in surprise as a list of links appeared, labelled and summarised as different cases. Beth gave her a shy smile.

"Wow." Emily murmured, clicking on the first case to be updated. She crossed her legs and glanced up at Beth, "Do you mind if I?" She gestured loosely with a hand and Beth's smile widened.

"No, not at all."

It didn't take long to read but, but Emily was already making a critique up about the writing style in her head, ready to give John some points the next time she noted him with his laptop.

She yawned softly, moving to the second one. Again, it didn't take long reading. But it was interesting, imaging her estranged fath- Sherlock, doing all of this with John as his wingman. It kind of reminded of How I Met Your Mother.

She paused, looking at one of the newest updates. "He doesn't know about Astronomy? How is that even _possible?"_

She shook her head, chuckling softly.

"So, d'you wanna go straight to Abbey's with me? Stay here till then?" Beth asked. Emily raised her head.

"Huh? Oh. Um, what time is it?" She peered down at the computer, catching the time. "Oh yeah. That's be great. If you don't mind, that is?"

"Yeah, of course." Beth grinned, glancing up from her drawing.

"How's that going, by the way?" Emily asked, nodding to the drawing.

"Um, good. I think I might have overdone it, though."

Emily peered at the drawing. "No, it's fine. I like that you added in a background."

The background all but reflected the drawing in front; it was a room with a domed ceiling, with lots of pipes and buttons all over it the wall, like it was some kind of underground submarine. There were even various cracks in the walls metal walls that flowers were growing through.

"It's good. Really, really good."

"Really? Thanks."

Emily smiled, returning her gaze to the computer. She went off John's blog, checking out several other reported cases (Several from newspapers) that Sherlock had been involved in.

"For such a cool person, he's kinda an asshole." Emily commented lightly. Beth gave a light, nervous laugh.

"Um, it's One O'clock." She said, "We should get going to Abbey's now."

"Yeah, okay."

"Everyone's really excited to see you," Beth said, standing up. Emily closed the laptop, sliding it back under the bunk beds. She stood up, smiling.

"Then you're right. We should get going."

Beth called for her dad as they trampled down the stairs. Her dad appeared, and Emily couldn't help the smile that spread across her lips. She could still remember the time that Beth had gone to the Rocky Horror Picture show last year, and put up a picture of her dad dressed in drag.

"Hey, Emily," Beth's dad greeted, "Ready to go?"

Emily nodded, smiling slightly. "Yup."

Beth wandered down to car and Emily followed quickly, sliding into the backseat beside Beth. The two girls passed each other nervous grins. Well- Emily's grin was nervous. Beth's was her normal, sweet natured grin.

Beth's dad (She'd only seen him a few times and had never picked up on his name) started the engine and started driving. Before long, they pulled up outside Abbey's house.

Beth and Emily departed from the car, making their way to the door. Abbey, who had seemingly noticed them coming through her window, bounded down the stairs, opening the door open with a loud clatter as it bounced off the wall.

"Hey, Abbey."

"Hey, guys," Abbey beamed. "Come on up, Sam's already here."

On the way up, Emily heard a few guitar chords being plucked. "You guys practising again?"

"Nah, it's my brother."

"Who else is coming?" Beth asked.

"Jordon."

"Oh man, I haven't seen her in ages." Emily grinned, sitting down on the bed. "Hey Sam."

"Hey," Sam greeted. Emily glanced him over quickly; Sam didn't seem to have changed much. He still had the same tan skin, curly light brown hair, high cheekbones, a mole on the right side of his mouth. He was taller perhaps, more muscled and stronger looking. He wore a simple black top, jeans and shoes. There was even the silver beaded necklace around his neck.

"You 'kay, Em?"

"Getting better every day."

He grinned, white teeth flashing.

The door opened, a head poking around it, "Hey guys."

Jordan walked into the room, settling at the base of the bed. Her platinum hair flashed softly in the dim light of the room. She glanced back, her soft blue-grey eyes meeting Emily's.

"Hey, Emily," She greeted, smiling back. Abbey burst out of the room, reappearing with three bowls balanced in her arms. She set them down on the ground and then disappeared, reappearing again with three jars.

"Doritos, people," She chirped.

Emily turned to Sam, "What are we doing?"

"Watching a movie."

"Oh. Okay. What movie is it?"

Same shrugged, "Whatever Abbey decides."

Abbey bent before the T.V and DVD played, her skirt riding up slightly on her thighs. She danced back as the film started, jostling the bed as she bounced on them, reaching out once comfy to grab a bowl of Doritos.

"The flavours are random," Abbey smirked, "So, I hope you guys don't really, really hate a specific flavour."

Emily grimaced. "I really, really, hate Chilli Heatwave."

"Wonderful," Abbey grinned. "You'll just have to sniff 'em out so you don't eat them."

Jordan switched off the lamp, leaving the room illuminated only by the light of the T.V. Emily sighed, grabbing the bowl. She sniffed, fighting the urge to sneeze when Dorito powder went up her nose.

"Nice, Em." Sam grinned, "Gettin' high of the Dorito dust."

There were a few chuckles all around. Emily merely rolled her eyes, plucking out a tortilla that didn't smell like Chilli. She licked the dust off slowly, her eyes on the film as the adverts ran through.

"Orphan?" She grinned as the play menu started.

"Yup."

"Awesome."

Several movies, bad jokes and all around shits and giggles later, Emily had to go home. The movies had quickly turned the day into night. Emily yawned, stretching as she clambered off the bed.

"Oh man, I can't wait to go home and get into bed." She mumbled, running her fingers through her now poofed up hair.

"You're tired early."

Emily nodded, "Yeah. My day and night's kinda screwed up right now."

"Oh, vampire lady," Abbey cooed, waggling her eyebrows. Emily bowed from the waist up, victorian style, and flashed them a smile.

"Well, vampire or not, my bed is calling," Emily said, starting out the room. "See you guys later!"

She collected her phone from her pocket, surprised to find several messages on it. There was one from Sherlock, two from John, and one from an unknown number.

She sighed, opening them up.

**Please respond to John's text. He's becoming quite agitated. **

**S.H**

She paused, tilting her head as she opened the first of John's text.

**Where r u? R u safe? **

**J.W**

Emily paused, wondering what had caused to merit such a reaction.

**Emily, where r u!**

**J.W**

Emily ran her tongue across her dry lips, inhaling softly as she constructed a text and sent it back.

**I'm safe. I'm coming home now. Emily xx**

She put her phone away, wandering down the dark street. Her phone vibrated and she frowned, remembering the unknown message. She brought her phone back out, checking it out.

**Go home. Now.**

**M.H**

She paused, tilting her head. Mycroft? She checked out the new message and sighed. It was just John, the tone of his text sounding more relieved than his prior text. She smiled, checking her route. Good. She was nearly there. When she appeared, she found John and Sherlock waiting outside the door, talking to each other quietly.

"Hey, what's going on?" Emily asked, frowning slightly.

Sherlock turned and fixed his icy blue eyes on her, sounding totally bored as he, "Murder."

Emily couldn't help the look of surprise that flashed over her face. She nullified it as quickly as possible.

"Oh, well. That sucks. Who is it?"

"Andrew West. He worked for MI6 and had an important flash drive is missing that should have been on his person," John sighed, "He was found on a railway line. Mycroft wanted Sherlock to work out who did it." He gave a bitter smile,"But Sherlock refused."

Emily ran her tongue over her lips.

"That's a nervous habbit," Sherlock stated, boring his eyes into Emily's. "You should stop doing it."

Emily shrugged. "Leave me and my nervous habbits alone."

**So, I think I kinda need someone that's very familiar with the episodes to beta the chapter's so they fit more in with what's going on. Or at least tell me what to edit. I am all ears people. **

***I added in the bit about FFN because Emily is a very book-ish kinda girl that would be the kind to find FFN and various other sites. It also makes sense, being the avid reader she is, she would be very critical about writing. **

***She's also starting to recreate the friendships she was on the verge of losing, by beginning to go out and about. Mainly, this will help build up character and whatnot. **

***Parts of the episodes I am very unfamiliar with, I'm just gonna skate slightly over, catching the main bits when and where. Also, note that parts of the episode will be given through out upcoming chapters, so don't be alarmed if it all doesn't come out at once. **

**Thank you for the reviews I've recieved, they are very nice and uplifting to read. And don't worry; this'll be a nice, long, solid fic. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! Thank you for all the reviews! I know that last chapter had a lot of dialogue chains, and I will try not to replicate that again, though, note that will be a lot of various conversations (Taken more or less from the episode, if there are any quotes I can find) so there might be some chains of dialogue. =(**

After a night of tossing and turning, Emily surfaced early and decided, upon touching her hair and discovering how greasy it was, a shower was in order. She padded from Sherlock's bedroom, spied him sitting down, her photo album open on his lap.

Biting down the instinct the snatch it away from him and hide it somewhere (She had that instinct with everyone; such a precious thing of high sentimental value was not something she wanted to think of someone else going through) she merely crouched before him, looking up at him in a way she hoped seemed vaguely beseeching.

"Hey, Sherlock?"

"Yes," He asked, turning the page carefully. Her knotted stomach loosened slightly when she saw how careful he was being with it.

"Is it okay if I have a shower?"

"Yes."

Emily smiled before returning to his room, collecting her bag. She sighed, suddenly noting her lack of razors and shaving foam. She dumped her bag on the floor of the bathroom, leaning in to turn the shower on. It came on quickly, immediately spraying over her head and shoulders before she could lean back to avoid them.

She cringed slightly; she could smell her armpits from here. She opened the door and peered out, finding John and joined Sherlock.

"Um, does anyone have a razor and some soap I could borrow?" She asked, blushing deeply.

Sherlock and John exchanged a staring contest that Sherlock seemed to be winning.

John sighed and then stopped mid-sigh. "Oh, Sarah. I'll ask if she has any spare."

Emily, still blushing, managed out a soft, "Thanks," before retreating into the bathroom.

She undressed even so and stepped into the shower, gasping when the hot needles poured down onto her skin. She face the wall, pressing her hands against the walls and let them pour down grabbed the nearest shampoo from the bath's side and sniffed it. It smelt like John, or rather John smelt like it. She set it back with some uncertainty. There was a soft knock at the door.

Emily leant back out of the shower as a woman made her way in, carefully averting her eyes, setting the razor and even a feminine smelling can of shaving foam.

She glanced up at Emily. "John said you can use his hair products. He didn't quite get around to asking me to bring some over, apparently." She smiled and shrugged.

"Thank you," Emily smiled, her arms absently crossing over her chest.

The woman, Sarah, was it? Left her be, closing the door softly behind her. Emily breathed out a sigh of relief, taking John's shampoo and pouring some into her lathered it into her hair, all but purring in pleasure when she stepped under the shower and the rich lather started to wash out, leaving her hair feeling and smelling better, if still knotted.

She padded out from under the shower and did the same with the conditioner. She let out a soft purr as her hair softened predictably, the knots loosening to nothing.

She sat down at the end of the tub, wetting her legs as she carefully squeezed the nozzle, watching as a pile of foam appeared in a few seconds. She set the can down and lathered her legs and armpits.

Some cultures, she reflected, find shaving to be a barbaric thing. It might even seem to them like the British were peeling off their skin with the hair. She smiled slightly. But it was so damn addictive to have a pair of nice, smooth legs and hairless armpits.

When this was done, she got up, washed herself down with her hands and rinsed the tub of her hair, wincing as she plucked some of her hair off the headrest of the tub. Her hair was forever moulting, like a cat with too much hair.

She turned the shower off and stepped out, grabbing a towel without thinking. It smelt fresh and clean and she dried herself off as quickly as possible, wondering which one of them the towel belonged to. She sighed, bending down and grabbing out some clothes. She dressed in a black top with a moth on it's front, black cardigan and grey jeans. Just plain black underwear. The sensations of the different fabrics felt nice against her washed skin.

She pulled on her socks and set the towel on the radiator to dry. She padded out of the bathroom and retrieved her trainers, yanking them on.

"Oh good, you're ready," Sherlock said,"You took long enough."

He stood up, "I've been called to Scotland Yard."

"Where's John-"

"Gone off with Sarah. Probably going eat breakfast together and then go to work."

Emily nodded, shaking her wet hair from her face. As usual, her hair had gone deceptively straight. But she knew that the moment it dried, it would do as it always did; go mega curly. She ran her fingers through her hair absently.

'So, what have you been called to Scotland Yard for?"

Sherlock gave her a look. "Obvious. Are you coming or not?"

Emily shrugged, "Yeah, sure."

Sherlock got up, grabbing his coat from where he'd lain it on the sofa last night and shrugging his arms into it.

"Good. There's a taxi outside."

He started downstairs and she followed, her hand cautiously spread across the banister. Sherlock slid into the front seat and she into the back.

She bit her lip and sighed audibly, rolling the winder down. "This reminds me of John's blog."

Sherlock snorted slightly. "Don't worry, I'm pretty certain that this taxi driver isn't a murderer."

"Oh, lovely." Emily mumbled, resting her head against the car's side. Wind brushed against her face gently as the car started to drive.

She closed her eyes, relaxing. The cabbie attempted to make small talk, which was quickly rebuffed by Sherlock, quite rudely, Emily thought.

The car drew to a stop before an amazing building and Emily got out, looking up at it with amazement as the glass windows sparkled in the sun.*

A 3-D sign stated the building's name in white bold letters,"Scotland Yard."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, stalking through the doors, coat billowing out behind him dramatically. Emily hurried to follow him, struggling to keep up. The inside of the place was covered in a plush deep blue carpet, the walls a cream colour.

They stopped outside a door labelled, "Detective Inspector Lestrade."

Sherlock knocked quickly and then opened the door, striding in, ushering Emily in before the door could shut behind them.

"Ah, Sherlo- who's that?"

"Emily," Sherlock said curtly, glancing back at her and removing his hand from between her shoulder blades.

The man, presumably, Lestrade, let out a deep-seated sigh,"Oh, yeah? Well, why is, _"Emily_" here?"

"Emily's my substitute John."

Emily flashed him a scowl, and then turned to look at the short, grey-haired, slightly tan man before her. He looked weary and tired, as though he'd been up late for several nights. She glanced around, taking in the dishevelled room; there were papers splayed all over his desk, a framed photo, facing towards him and several paperweights and various pots of pens and pencils. His filing cabinet, a small metal thing, was tucked away in the corner, and a leafy plant sat a top of it. Shutter blinds were hung over the window.

"Can we get to the point?" Sherlock requested.

Lestrade sighed, pushing a phone towards Sherlock. He picked it up and opened it. Five Greenwich pips emanated from it.

"Greenwich pips." Emily said, slightly confused. Sherlock inhaled heavily, looking at it. Emily stood on tip toe, getting a glance of a pair of trainers in a dark room.

"It's 221B's basement flat." Sherlock stated, looking at Emily. Obviously, the statement was for her benefit.

"You never did say what happened yesterday to make John so worried," Emily frowned. Sherlock waved her off with his hand quickly. "Doesn't matter."

The phone started ringing and Sherlock answered it before Lestrade could protest. Emily strained her ears, barely able to catch anything legible through a woman's crying. Her voice was trembling and her words mechanic and slow, as though reading from something.

Finally the phone was cut off from the other end, a woman's sob catching in her throat just before it did so.

"What's happening?" Emily asked, her mouth slightly agape and her eyes tilted up to look at him.

"A hostage-" He was cut off by another five Greenwich pips, which he waited through before continuing, "Situation. We have twelve hours to solve the puzzle of who the trainers belonged to and how the person died before the woman's explosive vest is detonated."

Sherlock paused, glancing at Lestrade. He waved the phone, "I'm going to need to keep this. Those five pips meant there are five challenges to be had."

With that he pocketed the phone and made his way out of the room, leaving a fumbling Lestrade attempting to stand.

"Come along, Emily, I need my blogger."

He sent a text from his phone. "John will meet us at Barts'."

"Barts'?" Emily repeated.

"It's a hospital. But first we need to go pick up those trainers."

Emily nodded, all but jogging to keep up with Sherlock's fast strides. It seemed the more exuberant Sherlock was, the faster he got. He was like a hyperactive kid getting a sugar rush. Hell, he was like _Abbey_ on sugar rush.

He phoned a taxi and proceeded to practically jig until the taxi got there. He slid in and barked out orders, Emily barely getting inside before the taxi (Who seemed to feel Sherlock's sense of emergency) sped off, Emily practically sliding around on the car's seats before she managed to get her seatbelt on.

They parked up on the edge of Baker street and Sherlock got out, snapping at both the taxi driver and Emily to,"Stay there."

He returned wearing a pair of latex gloves, holding a pair of trainers carefully aloft.

"St Barts'," He ordered. The taxi once again sped off. Emily leaning forward and clinging onto Sherlock's seat, grimacing. She wasn't one for fast tracked taxi rides when she wasn't expecting them. A good few minutes later and they were parking outside the hospital. Emily recognised it as the hospital she had had the DNA test in.

Sherlock paid the driver and departed, striding off without her.

Emily slipped from the car, running somewhat doggedly in Sherlock's direction as they raced through the hospital towards an elevator.

"Where are we-"

"The Morgue," Sherlock answered, bashing the button quickly. The elevator doors started closing. There was a slight pinging noise and the elevator descended. Her stomach felt taut and butterflies frolicked within it. She hadn't been in a morgue since. . .

the stooping elevator stopped with a cheerful ping.

"The two exited the elevator, walking into the bright white of the morgue. Emily looked around, her eyes wide. There were white lab tables everywhere holding various chemicals and instruments. There was a wall of shelves with lots of brightly coloured bottles on them. _God forbid a little kid (Living, that is) gets in here and gets a look at those._

There was a long cabinet, almost like a filing cabinet, with around ten different sections. The morgue, Emily reminded herself. She was in a morgue. Where the dead people were stashed away until burial. She licked her lips nervously. More than likely where her mother had been stashed away until her burial.

She winced when a chemical smell reached her nose; it smelt cloying, sweet, but like antiseptic at the same time.

A small, mousey looking woman is stood beside one nervously, clad in a lab coat and kitschy clothes, with John beside her. Further to her left, Emily's eyes stopped firmly on the man stood there. Everything about him all but screamed gay. He was tall but well toned. He was wearing skin-tight clothes.

Molly smiled weakly at Sherlock and glanced at Emily.

"Hi."

Emily shrugged, unable to meet her eyes, mumbling a soft, "Hi," in return as she glanced anywhere but the large row of silvery cabinet resided.

She watched as the gay man saw Sherlock and couldn't help the twitch pulling at her lips. Oh, this was _already_ going to hell Sherlock was busybody-ing himself about, looking at something under the microscope(Probably something pulled off the trainers.)and pretty much ignoring everything else around him.

"Hi. So you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly's told me all about you. She on one of your cases?" He seemed to pause between every few words to give a soft gush.

Molly smiled, glancing back at him and then back at Sherlock. "This is Jim. He works for IT. You know, from upstairs?" She rushed on,"That's how we met actually. Bit of an office romance."

Both she and Jim laughed, but to Emily it just felt like a raw, painful moment. Even John was grimacing slightly.

"Gay," Sherlock stage mumbled.

"What?" Molly said, fidgeting slightly, her smile fading.

"Nothing. Um, hey!"

"Hey," Jim repeated, practically leaning into Sherlock.

Molly's smile faded almost completely. Jim leant against the table and out of the corner of her eye, Emily caught him brush something off.

"Oops." He said, still gushy, bending down to pick it up. "Sorry, I'm just so. . . clumsy." He smiled again, setting the bowl back down. He blushed, and started to retreat from the room, turning back to Molly. "I'll, um, see you at the Fox at six."

Molly nodded, making the appropriate noises. The moment that Jim disappeared, she sent a hurt, angry look towards Sherlock.

"He's not," Molly said sharply.

Sherlock snorted. Emily squirmed slightly, trying hard not to blurt out that Jim from IT probably was gay.

"With that level of personal grooming?"

John looked at him in a disbelieving manner, "Because he puts a bit of product in his hair?" His nose wrinkled slightly, "I put product in my hair."

"You _wash_ your hair, there's a difference, no, no, tinted eyelashes, clear signs of tearing* around the frown line, those tired runners eyes and then there's his underwear."

Molly repeated the line with some surprise, "His _underwear?"_

"Visible above his waistline, very particular brand, that and then there's particular fact that he just left his number under the dish here," His eyes fixed on Molly as he continued, baritone voice more than a little victorious,"Well, I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain."

Sherlock waved the number he'd retrieved from under the dish and set it down.

Molly gave him a sad, shocked look and turned on her heel walking away. Emily looked between Molly and Sherlock somewhat taken back.

"Ouch." She mouthed, turning to watch John, and Sherlock, arms folding automatically as though to protect herself from any possible barbs from Sherlock.

John gave Sherlock a serious look, "Nice. Sherlock."

Then he too retreated out of the door.

Sherlock turned to Emily, looking like a bewildered child. Emily sighed, shaking her head.

"Bad Sherlock." She brushed her still damp, curly hair from her face and continued, expression dejected and drained, her brown eyes bleak and darkened,"Did you find anything out about the trainers?"

"I know who they belong to, and I can tell how he died."

"Really? How's that? Or rather, who's that and then how's that?"

Sherlock smirked, his blue eyes glittering brightly with triumph as he snapped the lapel of his blue coat together.

"Carl Powers."

"Alrightie then. Explain away," Emily sighed, leaning against a white lab table. She cocked her head slightly, curls cascading down the side of her neck.

"I knew Carl Powers. He drowned years ago on a school trip, but I knew it was suspicious even then. But I was young and the police wouldn't believe me when I told them that it wasn't just a simple drowning. To _them_ it was just a drowning, but now" Sherlock yanked her from the table over to the microscope.

Peering through the microscope, Emily had no idea of what she was looking at. Emily looked up at through concerned eyes.

"I know that he was poisoned through his eczema medication."

"Why are you so calm about this, so happy?" Emily asked, expression pained,"A boy was killed and you act like it's just some kind of game."

Sherlock paused. "I told you before. Sentiment is weakness."

Emily looked away, her head dipping down slightly. "Your loss."

She shook herself free of her melancholic mood, "Do you have any idea who did it?"

Sherlock said nothing to this, already starting out of lab, calling Lestrade on his phone. He reported his findings in quick, bullet-pointed sentences.

The phone vibrated and a text message came through. Sherlock ended the call and checked it out. It was an image of the girl, blindfolded and outside, without the explosive vest on. There was an address revealed beneath it as an attachment.

Emily breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing against the table again, her eyes closing again. She opened them and peered up at Sherlock, who was giving her an impatient _hurry up_ look.

On the way out of the hospital, the air around them seemed tangible, and Emily realised with a slight pang that their temporary truce was over with.

The car ride home was uneventful, with Emily staring out the window, not paying attention to London as she passed her by. When they arrived home, they found John was already there, sat cross-legged in his seat.

"Hi, John," Emily greeted, sitting down on the floor before the coffee table.

John gave her a wane smile. "Hi." He sighed, "Are you hungry?"

Emily looked down at her stomach, trying to figure out the answer to to it. "I haven't eaten in a few days. I guess now's as good a time as any to eat something."

John stood up and padded through to the kitchen, ignoring Sherlock as he came in and slouched on his sofa.

"God, I'm starved. I hope we have something in," They heard him grumble. There was the noise of the fridge opening and then a disgusted cry of, "Sherlock! There's a head in the fridge! A bloody head!"

"A head?" Emily choke out. Alarmed, Emily struggled to her feet and went into the kitchen staring into the fridge, disgust marring her features.

Distantly, she heard Sherlock reply with, "Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?"

Emily shook her head, wrought with disbelief,"What the fuck?"

"Language!" John said, looking aghast.

"John, trust me, I've said a lot worse. I'm sixteen; I say this shit as my freakin'," She waved her hands about dramatically, "Mantra, to keep myself sane!"

John just stared at her.

"Oh, don't start," Emily sighed. She glanced at the fridge but decided not to take another sneak peek. "When did he even get the time to put a head in there. . . " She shook her head slightly. "Also, we don't seem to have anything in. Um, take out?"

John nodded, "What's your take out poison."

"Lemonade and cyanide." Emily grinned. She rolled her eyes at his point-blank look. She glanced outside the window at the red splashed sunshet.

"Um, anything without meat in it's fine with me." She glanced at the fridge, "Meat just became out of the question."

John chuckled, "Pizza?"

"I could go for a pizza," Emily agreed, smiling.

"Sherlock?"

"Nothing for me, thanks, just tea."

Emily shrugged, switching the kettle on. "D'you want a brew, John?"

"Yes, thanks. I think I'll drink some tea, eat some food and then go to see Sarah."

"Cool. Can you thank her again for this morning?"

John nodded, "Yep."

He took out his phone and placed the order and the two of them returned to the living room, John taking the armchair and Emily taking the floor beside him, glancing up nervously whenever Sherlock shifted.

"I still can't believe you don't know anything about the solar system," She mumbled under her breath. John didn't catch it, but Sherlock certainly did.

The food arrived shortly and Emily found herself a lot hungrier once she'd inhaled the pizza aroma. Her stomach let out a very much audible growl of hunger and sighed with pleasure upon seeing her maragrita pizza with it's side order of chips.

She wriggled her toes happily as the box was settled on her lap and debated with hereself where to start; the pizza, or the chips. If not eaten first, the chips would go cold. And they always seem to taste like cardboard after they're heated up.

John laughed,"Are you going to stare at them or eat them?"

She settled on the chips, popping one in her mouth and chewing.

"Sherlock? Last chance?" John said pointedly, "And I know it's been a little longer than Emily since you last ate."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. A nimble hand flashed suddenly out before her, startling as it caught a slice of her pizza.

"Hey!" Emily exclaimed, "I didn't offer, John did!"

"You were closer," Sherlock mumbled through a mouthful of pizza.

Emily rolled her eyes,"John, make sure you tell the bloggers he stole my pizza."

Half an hour later, Emily dragged herself to Sherlock's bedroom, thoroughly exhausted. She undressed and dressed in her pajamas and went through the bathroom to perform her nightly face-washing and teeth-brushing. Earphones and phone grabbed, she curled herself up, making the quilts into a nice, secure, nest as she settled in them. The bed was warm and comfortable, and she was thankful for it.

She set her play list off, listening to Tarja Turunen's,"_Oasis"._ When she fell asleep (And she fell quickly) it was to a nightmare. Quick flashes of things she'd seen today repeated in her dream, more vivid and colourful than she recalled them being in the first place.

_She's in the Morgue and those chemicals are bright, lined up on their pristine white shelves in their jars and bottles like expensive perfumes. She's in the office, looking into the phone at the photo of the trainers. She's in the shower, bathing herself. She's in the taxi, her eyes closed and ignorant to London passing her by. And then it's reversing and she ends up in the Morgue rather than beginning in it, looking at Molly's hurt face as she turns and walks away and Sherlock's bewildered expression._

One might not think this was much of a nightmare; but to Emily, who was consciously aware she was dreaming and unable to break the chain and wake it, it surprisingly frightful.

***I tried to find an image of Scotland Yard to reference ****and came across one that nearly made wholly of glass. I don't know which one was actually used in Sherlock, so I decided to use this one as it seemed to be the most modern. **

***I don't know what he said then. **

***As I said previously, I can't actually watch the episodes on my computer because this computer is really old and has no sound or anything. So I have to kinda build my own bridges so to speak. If there are any outstanding mistakes, feel free to let me know. I had to change a few things, like the picture thing being a fake (Or something) and adding in various details.**

***I have nothing whatsoever against gays. Just so you know. :)**

***Sorry, sorry, sorry. This had much more dialogue than I had intended and not enough description. But now I know what I need to work on more. :) Sorry, sorry, sorry. . . **


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, my lovelies, thank you so much for reading. Now, it's actually kinda funny as I'm using a Wikipedia entry to actually write this up, lol. Anyway, thank you for the reviews and the helpful hints, I really enjoy reading them. They really do make my day. :) I live off reviews, lol. **

**There won't be a new, updated chapter until around Monday as Saturday is my birthday and I want some time off, lol. **

**I am to the second hostage I believe, which is something rather than other about the car. As usual, I hope you enjoy. :)**

Emily cracked open her eyes, breathing a soft sigh of relief. A few rough violin chords shattered the warm silence, and she silently wondered if it had been that had woken her. She sighed, setting up her phone's playlist and laying back down.

She closed her eyes, opening them again quickly when the chemicals flashed before her eyes. She sighed softly, turning on her side. Her stomach ached, probably the result of actually eating the pizza. Despite her music, she could still hear his violin.

Eventually she fell asleep, and this time it was to darkness instead of flashbacks.

When she woke up later, she felt tired and drained. She dragged herself from bed anyway and padded through to the living room, mumbling a greeting to Sherlock, who grunted in response. At least he wasn't glaring so much as ignoring her now. It wasn't long before she returned to bed to sleep a while longer.

Emily woke up, for the final time to day, still tired but not as thoroughly exhausted, and padded through to the kitchen. She poured a glass of water out, wincing slightly as she swallowed down a few gulps of the cold water.

She sorted her earphones out, sliding them in and turning on her Paramore playlist as she washed and dressed in a Hell Bunny top and skinny jeans. She pulled her boots on and returned to the kitchen to take another swallow of her drink.

She set the glass down slowly and padded back to the living room, moving back as Sherlock stalked past her, staring at the phone, the one he'd taken from Lestrade, eyes keen as they observed something. A cold feeling swallowed up her stomach and she pulled her earphones out, her hand sliding into her pocket and stopping the music.

"Is it another one?" She asked quietly, quickly catching up to him beside him. She peered over his arm to see the photo.

"How long is the ultimatum this time?"

Sherlock stood, stashing the phone away in his pocket. "Lestrade called me to tell me the location of the car. We need to go now. We have eight hours."

"Shorter than the last time. Is it because the puzzle's easier or because he intends to cut the rest on a shorter time leash as well?" Emily wondered.

Sherlock grunted, not bothering to answer. "I take it you're coming?"

"Yes. Where's John?"

"Waiting at the front door."

Emily nodded slightly, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to smooth over her curly mane. The curls would loosen after a few days until she showered again.

John smiled grimly at her, glancing up at Sherlock.

"Sherlock-"

"She wanted to come."

John sighed softly, settling into the taxi. Emily got in, settling herself down into her seat. Sherlock slid in beside the taxi driver and gave him the location. Immediately the car started off. Emily fidgeted with her nails, picking at her cuticles. She sighed as the edge of her nail tore slightly and set her hands apart, determined not to fidget anymore.

She glanced out the window and then returned her gaze to the car's interior.

"How far away is it?" She asked, glancing at John and then Sherlock. Sherlock said nothing, so John sighed and too it upon himself to give her a vague answer.

"Not far."

Emily shrugged slightly, opening up her game tab and clicking onto Tower Bloxx New York. She opted for the sound off, sorted her settings and started playing in earnest. John tapped her slightly and she gave a distraught mewl when the jolt made her tower collapse.

She stuck her phone in her pocket, getting out of the car. She trekked alongside Sherlock, taking note laboriously of everything she could see.

The car was covered in blood, the windscreen cracked and splintered in a spiderweb-like design.

"Oi!" A feminine voice snapped, "Freak!" A small tan woman wearing a pencil skirt with a matching blazer, a white shirt and a pair of low heels stalked over, her affro-like hair bouncing on her shoulders.

"Ah, Donovan, I was wondering when you'd show up," Sherlock said, barely sparing the woman a glance.

The woman, Donovan, seethed at the remark, glaring at him. "Who," She hissed, pointing a manicured hand towards Emily,"Is that?"

Emily glanced down, her eyes sticking on the woman's knees, which seemed to have smudges of dirt ingrained on them.

A man, weedy and weak looking, all but trotted up beside the woman.

"Anderson," Sherlock grimaced. Emily glanced between Anderson and the woman. Anderson was leaning in towards her, quite comfortably, and she was practically revelling in his closeness, leaning back into him. Glancing at the ring on the man's finger, she glanced at the woman's hand, momentarily confused at the lack of ring. Their behaviour depicted attraction, so if they were married, why not wear the ring? Why have different last name?

Or if they weren't married, then. . . _oh_. Emily winced. An affair, most likely.

She glanced at Donovan, tilting her head slightly. She walked towards her, inhaling subtly. They smelt the same. There was dirt on the woman's knees. They were very close to each other. Donovan spun, watching Emily with cat-like eyes.

From those clues, it was quickly becoming apparent there was an affair between them. Emily sighed, smirking slightly. She had managed to pick up some things from Sherlock method of observation, after all.

She finished her circle and stood back beside Sherlock, glancing up at him with a raised brow.

"Bump bump?" She questioned, too quietly for the couple to hear her, nodding towards them. Sherlock's grin widened to reveal pearly white teeth.

"Of course."

"Hey! Hey, what did she say?"

Emily winced, her hands raising automatically. She just managed to put them down before they clasped over her ears, shuddering lightly. The man had a voice to match his appearance; thin and weedy and nasally. It was the kind of voice that butchered your eardrums.

She pouted, flashing a glare up at Sherlock. "You said I was only a _little_ better than him?" She hissed quietly. "Jesus, just_ looking_ at him makes me _want_ to bang my head into a wall until it breaks."

Her voice level raised, "Nothing of importance, Anderson."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Anderson snorted and Donovan took a step forward, her eyes darkening.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

Emily rolled her eyes and bowed down to her waist mockingly, "Emily, my Lady Donovan."

Sherlock snorted from where he was behind the trunk, opening it. "Oh trust me, she's anything but a lady."

"Anything interesting in the trunk? And, no, I don't mean Donovan's."

Sherlock glanced down. "Oh yes. There's a card in here."

That said, Sherlock rustled in his pocket and finding a cotton wool swab. He brushed it across the side of the car, collecting blood onto it. He slid his other hand into his other pocket and collected a small ziplock bag out of it, dropping the swab into it.

He picked up the card and slipped it into his pocket.

"Come on. The card and the blood are the main clues here and we have them."

John, who had pretty much loitered around, looking around the car at the pattern of the smashed window, looked up, blue eyes softened in the sunlight. His lips set into a grim line.

Emily paused. "Aren't you usually at work?"

"I have shifts." John said simply. "So long as I keep up as many shifts as I lose by switching with other people. That and I only do a few days a week."

Emily nodded slightly, sliding back into the car, "So, the Morgue?"

Sherlock turned to face her, a brow raised. Already knowing what he was going to say, Emily opened her mouth and said it in sync with him. "Obvious."

John slid in and the car started up.

"This kinda feels like a road trip," Emily said awkwardly after a few minutes of driving.

"If you were like a normal teenager that ignored her parents, I'd be so much happier," Sherlock grumbled.

"Stop being such a bitch about it," Emily frowned, though after that, she was considerably quieter until they reached Barts'. She got out the car slowly, lagging slightly behind the two men who seemed to have forgotten she was even here.

She stopped before the elevator, remembering last night's dream and yesterday's events. She stepped in quickly at Sherlock's warning look and stood awkwardly between the two men as Sherlock pressed the button.

She felt slightly sick as the doors opened, revealing the hallway down to the morgue. They walked through the door quickly, the security guard that wasn't there yesterday sighing dejectedly as he let the three of them pass him by.

Sherlock stepped over to the microscope and took the small ziplock bag and with the blood swab out of his pocket. He lid the swab under the microscope, peering down onto the sample.

John stared at the card that Sherlock had picked up, finding the address. "Next stop," He mumbled, tucking it away in his pocket.

Sherlock nodded slightly, taking the swab out. "This blood was frozen. It's long since coagulated."

He frowned slightly,"I doubt that it's even the missing victim's blood."

"Did we even find out who the driver was?" Emily interjected, wrapping her arms around herself and leaning against the table.

Sherlock gave her an _obvious_ look, rolling his eyes. John gave him a stern look.

Emily sighed, raising a hand, "Never mind."

Sherlock grunted, "The car was a rental. The agency is our next stop."

Emily nodded slightly, rubbing at her forehead, "Right."

"Alright, come on," John sighed. The three of them retreated out to the elevator, Emily pressing the button. She could see John mouthing something to Sherlock behind her in the elevator's reflective surface, hear the low hiss of his voice. Judging by his tone, he disapproved of something Sherlock had done or condoned.

Most likely, judging from the look he'd given Sherlock and the response Sherlock had given to him. . . John didn't want her coming along.

The elevator pinged and Emily stepped into it, pressing herself into the back two men entered, John glancing back at her while Sherlock blatantly ignored her. The elevator closed and rose up for a few seconds, stopping with a light-hearted pinging noise.

"Emily," John began, walking out and looking back at her.

Emily sighed, stopping. John turned around and Sherlock gritted his teeth.

"John, you're the one whining about people dying and how serious it is, so stop wasting time nattering and get moving."

John glanced between Sherlock and Emily, the tips of his ears turning a dark pink.

Emily sighed and turned to Sherlock, "Shall we continue?"

He nodded, seeming pleased she wasn't wasting time. "Good."

He stalked off, coat whirling, and Emily and John scurried after. They called a taxi and slid in their respective places, Emily immediately scrolling the window down. The wind cooled her down and she gave a soft shiver. They arrived outside a large building, filled with shiny, silvery cars.

There was a cheesy sign on the face of the building, stating the Rental Agency's name in bright letters. Emily slid out of the car, heading for the entrance with Sherlock and John following. They stopped in the shop's foyer.

Emily glanced around, nosing the tip of her toe against the carpet. The air smelt of car freshener and kind of like new car smell. She padded towards the managment desk, following Sherlock.

"Oh, shiny, shiny cars." She mumbled, tilting her head as she looked around the room. John snorted slightly.

Sherlock said something to the woman at the till who nodded, leaning into her speakerphone and pressing the button. She called out for the manager into it and then removed her finger from the button.

"He should be here in a few minutes." She said simply, tending to a new customer. As the woman had depicted, the manager appeared but a few minutes later, practically glowing with tan.

Sherlock greeted him and immediately got down to business,"Dark tan, recently been away to somewhere hot?" He asked scathingly.

He hadn't said where, Emily realised. He wanted the owner to tell him where and if he just said he'd been away, he would be unlikely to get a straight answer.

"Yeah," The agency owner chuckled, grinning. His teeth gleaming white against the tan colour of his mouth. "Columbia."

"The car was covered in previously frozen blood and the hostage taker wanted us to work out what happened to Ian. The card leads us here, to where he," He nodded towards the man, "Has been away. He had something to do with Ian's disappearance. Most likely, Ian payed him to give him a way out."

The agency owner froze, mouth gaping. He spluttered. "I-I," His eyes darted and Emily nodded, smiling slightly. "So, that's it?"

Sherlock retrieved the other phone from his pocket as it vibrated, giving of three Greenwich pips. An image of the hostage was displayed, once again blindfolded, sat outside 221B Baker Street on her knees, her cheeks stark white and tear stained.

Sherlock nodded in satisfaction. "That leaves three more challenges."

Emily nodded, curls bouncing heavily. She brushed a hand across her forehead, disgusted at the feel of sweat that covered her brow. She closed her eyes for a moment and then opened them, walking towards the exit.

"Lestrade know?"

John smiled slightly. "Probably."

"So, Sherlock," Emily said, "Any idea who the man behind all of this is?"

Sherlock glanced back at her. "I think it's Moriarty."

Emily hummed softly in agreement, grimacing as she brushed her hair back. A soft warm breeze brushed against her cheeks, making her sigh softly.

"A Study in Pink, Moriarty?"

Sherlock snorted. "Obvious."

They slid back into the taxi, getting comfortable for the ride. Emily's phone rang and she glanced at it the caller ID before answering it.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Emily," the prude, oh-so-sophisticated voice of Mycroft said smoothly.

"Is there something you wanted?" She asked, wriggling around in the car, struggling to get comfortable.

"Yes." Mycroft said, "How's my brother?"

Emily gave a soft sarcastic hum of consideration. "Fine. Reminds of a cocker spaniel, actually. All curly-haired and excited to play murder in the dark."

Mycroft gave an irritated snort, "Be serious Emily."

"I am!" Emily protested, "Look at him!" She smiled slightly. 'Aww." She paused, "Is that all? Yeah? Okay, goodbye."

She cut him off mid-rant, watching as her battery gave a tragic beep as it announced it's battery was dead. She slid it in her pocket.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said, glancing back at her, eyes dark and lips set into a slight pout. "I remind you of a _spaniel?"_

"I remind you of_ Anderson?"_ Emily countered, her eyebrows cocked. "You're the one that doesn't know about the solar system. _Children_ know about the solar system."

John chuckled, "She's got you there, Sherlock."

"No she doesn't!" Sherlock exclaimed, glaring at her. "It isn't necessary to know about something so useless!"

Delighted laughter bubbled up Emily's throat. "It's about as useless as your birthday!" She paused. "Do you even know when your _birthday_ is?"

Flustered, Sherlock spluttered, his eyes narrowing. The taxi driver drew up in front of their house, and the three of them got out the car.

They stopped for a moment, watching as several police cruisers started to pull away, two in particular left in front of the house. Lestrade, Anderson and Donovan were all leaning against said cruiser, trying to look badass.

Emily, still smiling slightly, raised her eyes and met Donovan's, giving her a cheerful smile as she passed her by.

Sherlock grimaced as Lestrade started talking to him about the case. _When a case is over and all the deeds laid out for all to see, it must be pretty irritating to have to spell it out to those a few steps behind you, _Emily thought.

She brushed her hair back and wandered upstairs. She dug in her bag when she reached her- well, Sherlock's- bedroom, removing a bobble from her bag's front pocket. She tied her hair back with some difficulty, glancing at herself in a mirror as she went into the bathroom to use the facilities.

She came out, drying her hands on a towel and sat down, waiting for her companions to appear. Eventually she got up, wandering into the kitchen, sorting out three mugs and starting to make cups of teas for the three of them. She put her phone on charge, happily ignoring the two missed calls from an unknown number, or in other words, from Mycroft.

It was funny how he could cow her with one look when he was present, but otherwise, through the phone, she could quite happily back chat to her heart's content.

She opened the fridge and reeled back, choking. The fridge had kept the head's smell pretty well in the morning. Now, late in the humid afternoon, the smell was terrible, seeping out of the fridge and choking her. She staggered to the window, clawing at her throat as she opened it.

Minutes later, Sherlock appeared, wincing slightly at the smell. He retrieved the milk and shut the door, ignoring Emily as he sorted out two drinks.

"John's gone to go see Sarah." He said, dropping the teabag into the bin. He shoved a drink towards her. "As weak as you like."

"Thanks," Emily mumbled, her head still stuck out the window. Sherlock grunted, returning to the living room with his tea in hand. After catching her breath, she too returned to the living room, setting her drink down on the coffee table and curling up into her armchair. _Her_ armchair? She smiled slightly. What a funny way to think of it.

"What's on T.V?" She asked, watching him flip aimlessly through the channels. His lip curled with contempt.

"Nothing of any decent callibre."

She shrugged slightly. "Pity."

"Mycroft wanted you to spy on you."

Emily lifted her head from where it was rested on her arms. "Wow. Someone's paranoid. He asked how you were, that's all."

Sherlock shrugged. "He'll be spying on you too, now." He said lazily.

Emily raised a brow as her head sank back down onto her folded arms. "Why would he do that?"

"You're," He paused, lip curling again,"Family."

Emily shrugged, "I'm a bastard. Barely part of your family. Why would he spy on you anyway?"

"Because he's a control freak. He likes knowing what everybody's doing and he likes to know that we're being good boys." He glanced at her. "And girls."

Emily turned over in her seat, sighing softly. She licked her lips, closing her eyes and resting her head. She wasn't particually tired, but she felt more than content to relax and brood, basking in the sunlight that poured over the armchair.

Suddenly there was a loud cracking gunshot, startling her. "Huh?" She gasped.

John appeared up the stairs, already looking resigned. "Sherlock, stop it, think of Mrs Hudso-"

"BORED!"

Emily looked at the wall as he shot towards it, utterly surprised to see a smiley face had been drawn onto it, one bullet puncturing it's left eye.

"BORED! BORED! BORED!" Each shout was punctuated by another bullet and a flinch from Emily, until the face had bullet shot eyes, a nose and two lines either side of his mouth. He reloaded, and shot again and again, until John stepped forward, attempting to confiscate the gun.

"Sherlock!" John said, exasperated as he managed to wrestle the gun from him. Emily stared at the perfectly shot smiley face, gaping slightly at that.

"Wow," She whispered. Shock drew through her, pulling a fog over her mind and making her blood feel cold under her skin.

Emily reached back, releasing her hair from her tangled ponytail, eyes slightly dazed. She finger combed the wild curls, wincing at the tug and pull of her resilient hair.

"I think that I. . . " She paused, trailing off, uncertain of how to finish the sentence. She shook her head, blowing out a sigh. "I'm going to go. . ."

In times of need, friends were often the people we talk to. Emily inhaled, brushing her hair back as she stood.

"I'm going to go talk to Beth."

Beth, sweet Beth. Beth who wouldn't judge her and would simply. . . listen. Emily needed someone to listen to her; talking to someone always helped her straighten out her thoughts. When her mum had died, she had denied herself the privilege of friends, too busy wallowing in the loss of her mother to even think that her friends might miss her.

She wasn't going to make the mistake of locking her problems away inside her again. She padded through to Sherlock's bedroom and sent a hastily penned text.

**Meet me at the park? Em. xx**

It wasn't late, not really. The sun had yet to sink, the clock had yet to pass by six. She just needed some time, just needed to talk.

**What's up, Em? Beth. xx**

Emily inhaled shakily.

**I just need to talk. Em.**

**Kay. Do u wanna come to mine? Beth xx**

She typed quickly, **I don't know the way. **

**Kay. Meet u at park. I will show u the way. Beth.**

Emily sent a final message.

**Kay. C u there. Em.**

If there was one place that Emily could directly find almost anywhere, it was the park. It was too big, too popular to miss. There were signs leading to it by the handful.

Grabbing her thickest jacket, she zipped it up and head out, down the stairs, ignoring John's protests. Her feet pounded against the stairs, electing a few high low creaks and groans.

Outside, the air was brisk, brushing against her skin. She strolled through the streets, her breathing harsh. Rain started to drizzle down and she glanced up, throwing her hood up. She started up into a jog, panting heavily and bending down to her knees, leaning against the fence of the park.

She made her way towards the entrance slowly, her breathing heavy, body wracked with a low shudder from the cold. Once she stood inside, she leant against a tree, sliding down the rough bark until she sat on the cold dirt.

Her hands clasped over her eyes and she leant her head back against, feeling cold water splash down on her face.

"Hello, darlin'," A soft lilted voice sounded suddenly, the sound of rain bouncing off an umbrella starting as the man drew up his umbrella.

"You alright?"

**So, I have Emily more or less tagged for body language rather than observation itself. Though she can observe, it's not really as fastidiously as Sherlock. **

***Once again, haven't seen the episode, had to make up various patches of speech and various from-here-to-there patches. I hope that it turned out alright. **

***I know the ending it pretty much a list of what she's doing, but I was kinda running out of stuff. I hope that it isn't too bad and I hope the characters are too out of character. :)**

***Sorry. Kinda cliff-hanger-y. It's not going to turn out how you think it will!**

**BTW, I'm sorry it's a short chapter I promise that the next one will be longer in content. :) **

**Review, please!**


	7. Chapter 7

**I bow down before you all! I'm so sorry that it's taken me so long to actually get back to writing this story! On the other hand now, thank you so much for all the reviews! I really appreciate them. To TheDoctor'sAmazingCompanion especially, who was a great help in helping me figure out who the mystery man was. **

Emily struggled to her feet, rubbing her knuckles over her eyes to wipe her tears away before staring at the man and trying to ignore her shivering. He held the umbrella over her, the black material of the umbrella already sodden through. There were several patches in the umbrella, and the metal of the umbrella's spine was tainted with rust.

The man himself was rough-looking, wearing a heavy-looking tan coat that had several patches in it, a mouldy looking sweater and filthy jeans. His face was bearded, his jaw firm and angular, his eyebrows thick and bushy. His skin was tan, his eyes were a dark, sunken brown and when he lifted back his lips to smile at her, his teeth were a sickly deep yellow.

It was surprising to Emily that he didn't have a voice, deep and rough, to match. She edged away from him, her eyes glued onto him, making sure he didn't make any sudden movements. She wrapped her arms around herself, now too focused on the problem at hand to let herself cry.

Remembering the question, she drew her lip back under her upper teeth nervously, tugging at the skin.

"I'm fine," Was all she said, already looking around for the exit, or better yet, Beth.

"Sherlock wanted us to find you," The man said, his head turning as she started to trek back, watching her movements. "Said that goin' alone at the park at this time of evening alone is unacceptable. Even if you're meeting someone here. Said to tell you that, 'e did. Said you were acting like a little idiot and to tell you to go back home, or go to Beth's house."

Emily shook her head. "I'm fine," She repeated, her dark eyes scanning over the woods, "I know what I'm doing, and I'm already going to Beth's, as soon as she gets here."

"Em! Em, where are you?"

_Well now, speak of the devil and she shall appear. Now that's ironic._

"Over here, Beth!" She called.

The sound of branches and bramble crunching underfoot sounded and Beth appeared in the thicket of the trees.

"Em," She sighed, clearly relieved. Emily quickly trudged over to her, turning her around before she caught sight of the homeless man.

"Come on," Emily muttered, her hand still gently guiding Beth forward at a quick pace. She wiped at her face with her spare hand, wincing at the sticky trail of tear-tracks left behind.

She still felt surprisingly mellow after the night's occurence. Her crying felt as though it hadn't been ridden all the way through, and as such, was still bottled tightly inside her. The fear still ran through her veins, making her tremble finely. She still felt confused and brought down.

She pulled her hand away from Beth and the two of them started to walk towards the exit together, both quiet.

"Emily? Who was that?"

Emily shrugged slightly, paranoia rising up.

"I don't know," She said quietly, trying hard to ignore it. She swallowed down, trying to dislodge the bump in the back of her throat.

The two slid into the warmed car, where Beth's dad was waiting. He glanced back at the pair of them, giving them a sad smile.

"You alright, Em?"

Emily nodded, head down and face hidden behind a long thick layer of hair. The car started up. Emily felt a slight squeeze on her hand and glanced to her side, pushing back her hair with her left hand. Beth smiled at her, her hand gently holding Emily's.

"Do you wanna sleep at mine tonight?"

Emily hesitated; the last few nights, she'd slept in the same bed, Sherlock's bed. After being moved from her home and starting to bury her bones in the new one, she wasn't used to the thought of even sleeping out. Hell, she still wasn't used to sleeping in. Still, she inclined her head towards Beth's dad, looking at him to see if he minded.

He sent her back another cheerful smile in the rearview mirror.

"You're welcome to, Em."

"Thank you," Emily said quietly, leaning back against her chair. Beth squeezed her hand gently and released it, leaving behind at impression of warmth. It wasn't long before they arrived.

"I don't have anything to sleep in," Emily realised abruptly, brushing her hair back from her face.

"I have something," Beth responded. They got out of the car and entered the house, Emily kicking off her shoes at the entrance. A loud yipping noise started up from the kitchen and Beth's pug darted across the cream-carpeted hallway, wriggling around. Beth leant down, cooing and petting the pug happily.

"Move on Beth," Beth's dad said, trying to edge his way around the girl and her dog. Emily took the moment to observe her friend in the dull light; today she wore a light blue pair of jeans and a fluffy green sweater. Her hair was soft and fluffy looking, unsullied by hairspray today. That or she'd just washed it for the night.

Emily smiled ruefully, knowing that she probably looked terrible. Beth gave her pug a final belly rub before standing, slipping her own shoes off.

"You coming, Em?" She queried, starting up the stairs. Emily followed quickly, her feet treading lightly on the stairs as though afraid of marring them with the mere pressure of her feet.

The two arrived in Beth's bedroom and Emily took in a deep breath, inhaling the idyllic scent of Beth's room. Sweet and familiar, the fairy-tale like room was already beginning to soothe her nerves.

"Mum's washing clothes tonight," Beth said, glancing at Emily's clothes. Emily winced slightly.

"She'll wash your clothes for you, if you like." She continued.

She went to the fairy-light strung wardrobe and opened the bottom drawer, finding out a pair of pale yellow pyjamas. She tossed them to Emily, who padded through to the bathroom, locked the door.

The door was knocked on lightly and Beth's voice, muffled, came through the door, "Grab a shower, too, if you want."

"Thanks," Emily said, blushing. She hated bathing in other people's houses, but. . . no choice. There really was nothing else for it. Slowly, she stripped her clothes, stepping into the shower. She yelped at the cold spray of water and stepped back, shivering as she waited for the water to heat. She stepped back under and washed herself as best as she could with her hands.

When she got home, she'd have to revisit the shower; she needed to shave again. She washed her hair with shampoo and conditioner, smiling when she nearly picked up the dog shampoo off the side of the tub. She rinsed her hair and body off and turned the shower off, for a moment standing there to drip dry.

She glanced around herself, looking for the shower rack. The room itself was a soft blue, the lower half and shower half covered in white tiles with small blue starfish on them. There was a shower mat next to bath for her to step out on to dry her feet, and tucked between the towel rack and the shower was a shelf of various luxurious bath bombs and whatnot.

Along the tub were various bottles of shampoo and conditioners, most of them almost empty. She smiled slightly, grabbing a towel and drying herself off before she put on her underwear and then the pyjamas. They were soft, made of polyester and a soft felt-like fabric. She gathered her clothes and padded out.

Beth's mum had known her for a long time, since she was twelve. The father, however, she had only recently come to know. She was comfortable with Beth's mum, and friendly with Beth's dad. Brushing her hair back, she wet her lips.

"Hi, Donna," She greeted softly, nervously, her heart fluttering in her chest.

The small, stout-structured, dark-haired woman smiled at her.

"Hi, Emily." She said gently. Emily smiled slightly for a second, diverting her eyes. The clothes were taken from her arms and Donna disappeared down the stairs, looking back over her shoulder. A gnawing feeling felt at her gut and she took in a sharp breath before releasing it.

When she went into Beth's room, sat the bottom bunk with Beth, she found herself oddly longing and jealous at the same time. Longing for her dead mum, and longing for someone else to fill the void her mother had left behind in her chest. Jealous because Beth still had a mum.

She looked at Beth and the gnawing feeling increased, making her feel shaky and weak and like such a bad friend. A good friend wouldn't be jealous of another one, just because the friend had something precious the other had lost.

Sighing softly, her heart aching, she pressed herself against the warm quilt, her eyes fixing of the soft fairy lights. When Emily was young, she had been afraid of the dark. Her mother had dealt with the fear, or rather helped her through the period of time when she had feared the dark, by stringing them up all over her room, and down the hallways.

Beth leant down, retrieving her laptop, she drew a movie upon her screen and set it on the bed before them.

"What is it?" Emily mumbled. She wasn't exactly so much tired as wrapped in a blanket of fogged over emotions.

"Up."

"Up?" Emily repeated, a smile twitching at her lips. "Remember when we guilt tripped Mrs Jordan into playing that on the last Physics lesson?"

Beth giggled, the vibrations rumbling the bed. A slow smile drew over Emily's lips as a warm and comfortable feeling drew over her.

'I've missed hanging with you, Beth," She smiled. The two shared a smile and respectively curled up, watching the film, a few giggles passing through their lips at humorous moments. Near the ending of the film, Donna appeared at the door.

"Hey, you two ready to eat?" She asked quietly.

Emily glanced at Beth, who was already standing and stretching. They all went downstairs to the dining room. The dining room was conjoined with the kitchen, and was a long, rectangular room. The cupboards that lined the walls were a soft mahogany, the curtains that framed the window a pale yellow.

The walls were a vibrant burnt shade of orange, the counters white and orange flecked. There were the usual kitchen applications; toaster, kettle, oven, knife wrack and a heavy cutting board, dark green with daisies decorating the borders.

On the long rectangular table, different sets of table mats were out, with cutlery set out. It was a warm and comfortable room, and even the dogbed by the side of the double glass doors that allowed for a view of the garden.

Emily bent down, giving the dog a quick pat. She washed her hands and sat beside Beth, talking quietly as the meals were dished up.

"Thank you," Emily said softly as a plate was set in front of her. Donna smiled, shrugging slightly.

"No problem." Her look turned scolding,"You haven't been eating enough."

Emily balked slightly under the look, diverting her eyes once again. Donna sighed, smiling slightly as she sat across from them. Beth's dad sat down, and the usual bustle of family dinner, of talking between mouthfuls and having the odd bubble of laughter made from bad jokes that Emily had missed so much began.

Emily set down her knife and fork neatly in the middle of her cleared plate, her stomach full to bursting and feeling more content than she would have anticipated. She grinned at Beth as they recounted various happenings that had occured when they had gone to school.

"Remember the time when that teacher ended up having a breakdown because of our class?" Beth chatted lightly as the plates were cleared and taken to be washed. Emily grabbed a tea towl and she and Beth dried and put away the pots as they were put on the draining board.

"Oh god, yes. He was so awful,wasn't he?" Emily giggled, slotting the cup into the cupboard. Having stayed here several times prior to her mother's death, she had always insisted on helping with chores. It was only fair, after all.

She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, "And the camping trip?"

"Oh god. When the tent fell down and everyone was freaking out and the teachers kept gibbering because he thought he'd gone blind?"

Emily laughed, tossing her hair back slightly. Donna shook her head ruefully, her arms swamped to the elbows with fairy liquid bubble froth.

"What are you two like?" She sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Unique," Emily responded, putting the last dish away.

"Fabulous." Beth continued, winding her blue-streaked hair around her finger.

"Amazing," Emily chimed.

"All of the above and more," Beth completed.

The two of them were quick to retreat back upstairs, snuggling under on the bottom quilt, swathed in quilts and blankets and heads held up with pillows. Beth set up her laptop again for another movie, one called, "Thinner."

* * *

Meanwhile, one John Hamish Watson was becoming very high-strung, pacing around the flat nervously.

"Where is she?"

Sherlock, leaning over his microscope, grunted ambiguously. Finally, he raised his head from his microscope, annoyance askew over his angular features.

"She's at her friends."

"Sherlock, it's past eight!"

"She's a teenager, John. Studies indicate that-"

"I don't care! Which friend?"

"Beth."

"And where does, "Beth," He finger quipped her name, "Live?"

Sherlock shrugged.

"Sherlock, your child could be in danger!" John spluttered.

"She's fine. She's with Beth." Sherlock dismissed.

"How do we know that?" John demanded, "She could be seeing a boy, she could be drinking in some park," He strode around the room, becoming more and more agitated.

"Or she could be at her Beth's house watching a movie." Sherlock snorted. John gritted his jaw, retrieving his phone from his pocket. He sent a text to Mycroft, and one was sent but a few minutes after, explaining that Emily appeared to be sleeping at her friends for the night and was already in pajamas.

John's jaw cracked slightly as he shoved his phone back.

"Tomorrow, we are discussing this with your daughter."

* * *

Emily yawned, stretching out and kicking her quilt off. She stretched out over the mattress, wearily aware of her sleek frame and full stomach. She felt like an otter dragging itself along a road in summer.

"Tired, Em?" Beth mumbled, her own eyes already nearly closed.

"A little. It's really warm."

"Open the window." Beth mumbled, turning over. Emily stood up and wandered to the window, parting the curtains and pushing one as open as it would get. A gust of fresh air instantly buffeted her. She sighed, leaning into it. The cold felt nice against her skin, despite the goosebumps that rose over her skin because of it.

Her hands pressed down against the window pane, her body leaning forward. Her eyes closed and she took in a deep breath, a smile drifting across her lips. She sighed, opening her eyes. She tugged the curtain across and then started to climb up the ladder of the bunk bed, settling in the bed above Beth.

A fresh, frequent breeze ran through the room, soothing her. The noise was comforting, a distant soothing noise, like the sea. It wasn't music, but for the night, it would do. She closed her eyes, feeling the chill settle on her skin, and fell asleep shortly after.

* * *

"Come on. Wake up!"

Emily grimaced, turning her face into her pillow and mumbling. "Just a few more minutes, mum."

A few seconds after Emily opened her eyes, comprehending Beth's room. In a flash, she quickly recalled the past few days, her heart sinking down into her chest.

She looked down to Donna, who was peering up with a worried expression.

"Sorry," Emily mumbled. Donna tried to shrug it off, instead reaching up to push Emily's clean clothes at her. Emily licked her lips nervously, pulling them onto her lap. "Thank you."

"No problem." After giving Beth another prod and shake, accompanied by Donna grumbling, Donna left the room, leaving the girl's to get up and sort themselves out.

Emily undressed quickly, struggling to get out of the pajamas in the confined space of the top bunk. She managed to do it, however and then stumbled down the ladder, practically falling on the way down.

Beth, who had fallen asleep in her clothes, blinked sleepily up at her.

"Radio," She managed before her head hit the pillow again. Emily leant over, switching on the CD player's radio. Loud music spewed from the machine, making Beth moan. Unable to ignore the noise, she stumbled from the bed, much to Emily's amusement.

"Breakfast," She mumbled, brushing her thick blonde hair out of her face. Emily just smiled, leaning back against the wall.

Beth blinked, looking up. "C'mon. My li'l woofa's waiting."

Emily padded out of the room, running down the stairs quickly. She opened the kitchen door and bent down, instantly lavishing attention onto Beth's pug, cooing as she petted her.

Beth appeared behind Beth and the dog disappeared through Emily's legs, making her laugh as she struggled to her feet.

"We've got cereal, toast and. . . " Beth eyes the inside of the cupboards. "Crumpets."

She turned to Emily, her blue eyes beseeching her to make a choice despite the sleepiness in them.

"Um, crumpets?" Emily offered, shrugging her shoulders.

Beth yawned widely, collecting the packet from the cupboard and popping several in the toaster.

"Hey sexy girl," She mumbled, bending down to fondle her dog's ears, a smile on her lips. She looked up at Emily, still smiling.

Emily smiled back, her shoulders drawn up slightly.

A knock at the dog sent the dog reeling back from Beth, smacking into the kitchen door to get through to the person knocking at the door.

Beth looked at Emily and shrugged, "You expecting anyone to pick you?"

Emily shook her head," No, I- oh shit."

"What?"

"I completely forgot to tell them I was sleeping here."

"Well, to be fair, you didn't know I was going to offer," Beth pointed out. "And you didn't have your phone with you."

Emily and Beth swallowed simultaneously when a harsh voice snapped at Beth's parents. The door opened and John stepped in, looking mad as a bull. Emily swallowed, fighting the urge to run away or hide. Her cheeks paled and she knew instantly that she was in deep shit.

"Save me," She mouthed, her eyes fixed on Beth's.

Beth winced as they heard John snapping. He approached the kitchen door and the crumpets' popped, making Beth and Emily jump. John opened the door, his expression stern and very, very unhappy.

"Hi John," She said quietly, her head instinctively ducking.

John inhaled heavily, pointing his hand and then dropping it with a dejected sigh.

"Come on," He sighed. Emily raised her head slightly, dropping it immediately when he made eye contact. She padded over to Beth, giving her a brief hug that was returned with abundance.

"Good luck," Beth whispered.

"Thanks." Emily whispered back.

She leant away from the hug, clearing her throat awkwardly, "Yeah. See you soon, Beth."

She bent down, petted the dog for a final time and started the walk down the hallway. It felt like the green mile, and she could all but hear the sad cowboy country western music in the background. Her lips twitched slightly at the imagery and she continued down it, raising her head. She got outside to a waiting black car with a very irritated looking Sherlock and Mycroft stood in front of it.

And just like that, Emily had a flash back of that scene in Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, where Filch is sneering down at Harry and Ron and then goes, "Oh dear, you are in trouble."

She stilled her lips before they could twitch by pulling her lower lip back into her mouth, dragging on it with her teeth.

"In the car," Mycroft bit out, sliding into the car. John copied suite, getting into the driver's seat and Sherlock slid into the back seat. She was willing to bet that all eyes would be on her when she got in. She got in and bowed her head, her hair falling forward to hide her expression.

"Emily, look at me," Mycroft snapped. He had his umbrella in his fist and was clenching it tightly. "I don't appreciate John bothering me none stop. I don't appreciate to be bothered because of a silly school girl."

"College girl," Emily mumbled under her breath.

"Shut it." He whacked the umbrella in her direction and she flinched back, her eyes set upon the closed umbrella. Absently, she took the rolled up map pack from the back of the seat.

"Your vocabulary is so refined when you're ignored," Emily blurted before she even realised she'd opened her mouth. His scowl deepened and he dragged his umbrella back into the front seat with him.

He whacked it back again and this time she whacked the map up to stop it from getting close to her again.

_Oh god, I hope he doesn't know that sword thingy people can get taught._ . . she shoved the umbrella back and Mycroft scowled deeply, shoving it back into the front, face puckered like an annoyed bulldog.

_I hope your umbrella appreciates the alone time with you._ Emily stiffened at the filthy thought that the thought had brought on. _Oh, ew. _

"The point being, don't make John worried to the point where he actually texts me and complains all night." Mycroft said stiffly. Emily nodded, mumbling in agreement. She'd been through a lot of this with her mum.

She sighed, looking at John. "I'm sorry John." She said, "I promise the next time I go out, I'll leave you some kind of sign to let you know."

John sighed, "A note would do." He said grudgingly.

Emily inclined her head. "Okay."

She turned to Sherlock. "I don't like being stalked by people, Sherlock. No matter who they are and what relation they have with you."

She turned back to the window, and turned to Mycroft with an afterthought. "Same to you, Mister High and Mighty."

Sherlock gave her a look, "You've about as much chance of shaking him off then a hen a Doberman."

**So I had Emily sleep out at Beth's, and it came to me that John and Sherlock (Well, Sherlock kinda knew already) didn't know because she hadn't told them (Or at least, John didn't realise she'd said earlier she was going to Beth's) and that John would be really panicky what with the recent events and angry with Sherlock and Emily.**

**Basically, John's making up for Sherlock's lack of parenting in his own way. **

**I honestly can't recall what I said (If I said) what Beth's dog was called. But either way, my Nanna calls her dog li'l woofa when she's having a fond moment. So. . . I'm borrowing the term. **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Please review. :) Love you lots. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! Thank you so much for the reviews of the previous chapter and the response I've gotten. So far, I've had a person (TaintedMuse; shout out to you!) request that Emily out deduce Sherlock and also have a run away moment. I do not that these things will happen in this chapter, but I just want you to know, I'm all for it!**

**If anyone has any ideas, feel free to mention them or PM them to me! **

Emily tucked her knees up to her chin, her brown eyes steadily observing Mycroft, Sherlock and John (Sandwiched between the two Holmes, John looked somewhat uncomfortable) while her fingers fidgeted with her newly charged up phone.

She was half tempted to slid her ear buds in and put on some music to contradict the situation purely to make herself feel less constrained and panicked, but, alas, she knew this would go down with a spoonful of sugar.

She tapped out a meaningless rhythm on her knee, glancing down at her clear nails. For the last half an hour, Mycroft had been steam-rolling Sherlock about Emily and what he should be doing for Emily to keep Emily safe. It was quite the conversation to listen to, unless of course, you happened to be the Emily they were speaking off. And you knew your life was about to have yet another major shake up.

Bedtimes had been expressed, meal times and exercise and even make up and clothes. Emily hadn't objected- she didn't need to. She doubted Sherlock would even try to excercise these things; he already looked half asleep. John was looking doubtful about somethings mentioned, but nodded at various other things.

Then had come the bedroom. He'd rambled about having the room cleared out and sorted out, about decorating and various other things that Emily couldn't care less about.

But finally, that long (It was amazing how long Mycroft could make half an hour seem) part of the one-sided conversation was completed, and it was now onto Emily. She was dreading what Mycroft had to say about her.

She tilted her head, observing him. He, almost in the same manner, was observing her.

"Emily," He said finally, standing. "You will behave and do as you're told. Understand?"

Emily tilted her head, her lips parting slightly. "I understand what you have said, yes."

Mycroft inhaled and nodded. Emily caught sight of Sherlock behind him, smirking. He'd already caught on. Emily had said she'd understood the statement. Not that she'd follow it through.

"Good," Mycroft sighed, before bowing his head slightly, stating, "Have a nice day," and walking out the door.

The three of them released a deep-seated sigh, Emily sliding down deeper into her chair. She inhaled deeply, brushing her hand across her forehead.

"Did you get all that, John?" She asked, propping herself up. John gave a half-shrug half-nod movement.

"Good. 'cause I wasn't listening."

"You were listening enough to defy him," Sherlock pointed out. He frowned. "You were you're more resilient."

John glanced at him."She's normally quiet when Mycroft's around or she's busy."

Emily raised her brow, pulling herself forward from the seat and perching on the edge.

"Or when I don't care for someone, or when, in general, I don't know someone." She continued, tilting her head.

She sighed, getting up and going into Sherlock's room. She unrooted her bag from under the bed and plucked up a book. She returned to her armchair and curled up in it, opening it.

"What book's that?' John asked, awkwardly. Emily glanced up at him and then point-blank ignored him.

"The Hellbound Heart," Sherlock said.

"What's that about?" John persisted, still trying to get Emily's attention.

Since this morning's long talk, Emily's mood had increasingly soured. She was in no mood to deal with John. Her mum would have known she was there. Emily had always talked to her mum before doing it, sometimes days in advance. She felt like John was just someone she was a roomate to- the thought of discussing staying out hadn't crossed her mind, just like charging her phone before it died and telling Sherlock.

She'd said; I'm going to Beth's. Sherlock had clearly read the messages on her phone; why hadn't he texted Beth, or even Beth's mum?

When John shuffled closer, she finally turned up her head to face him. "It's about torture." She said simply, before dropping her head.

John paused, uncertainly. He turned to Sherlock, who glanced up. 'Clive Barker. The Hellraiser series was based on it."

"Hellraiser," John repeated, a frown furrowing between his brows.

"It should come with my mum's stuff when the room's sorted," Emily responded. "You can watch them then."

"Oh."

John's bad temper had seemingly defused from this morning, leaving his mellow and a little bit nervous.

Too distracted to actually read the book, Emily set it down and sighed, crossing her legs and hanging her head down.

She grimaced as the sound of Greenwich pips sounded.

"You're coming," Sherlock pronounced, catching her distress, "You'll have to get used to this sooner or later."

Emily nodded. "Fine." Her voice was slightly weary, but she ignored it in favour of the situation.

He answered the now ringing phone.

"He-hello?" A feminine voice wavered from the speaker phone. She continued on, voice trembling and the occasional sobs breaking through. She stated her name and then began, continuing onto the information chunk of her hostage situation.

Emily listened, keying in, _'Connie Prince_" onto her phone's google. She skimmed over the information, plucking out that she was a T.V personality, that she was dead and had died from a tetanus, which occurred through a wound she procured through cutting her finger on a nail.

Sherlock closed the phone after the information was given and glanced at Emily.

"Dead," Emily said, "Died from tetanus, supposedly through cutting herself on a nail." She shrugged. "Obviously there was something amiss with the manner in which she died."

With that, she grabbed her coat, sliding it on.

"Morgue." She stated, already doing down the stairs. "She didn't die too long ago, she should still be in the morgue."

Sherlock managed to snap out, "Obvious," as he threw his coat on, winding his scarf around his neck. The three of them raced down stairs, John already calling a taxi. Both Sherlock and Emily seemed agitated, eager to bite into the case and find out what had been missed.

A few minutes in a taxi later, the three of them were dashing down the stairs to the morgue, seeing as Sherlock was too agitated to take the elevator, which he deemed to take too long to come up. Emily overtook him and darted out in front of him, skidding to a hold before the door and pretty much circling around the security guard on her way through the Morgue door.

Sherlock and she stopped before the tray of bodies, Emily leaning against the draws and rubbing at her aching ribs.

"Molly; Connie Prince," Sherlock ordered. Molly, standing meek beside her desk, a styrofoam cup of steaming liquid in her hand. She set it down quickly and strode forward, finding the correct draw and opening it, sliding the metal table with the female corpse on it fully out.

Emily bit back a sharp intake of breath, her eyes widening slightly before relaxing to their usual state. She said nothing, and nothing gave her grief away save for the tightening of her jaw and the slight wetness of her eyes. She tried to dispel the memory of her mum, the day that she'd come in to the hospital, watched with wide eyes and heavy breathing, as that silver metal door, cool to the touch she knew, even by looking at it, slowly, slowly, swung open and the long silver draw slid out, smooth as a knife through butter.

And on that silvery tray? Her mother, of course. Who else?

She'd staggered back then, breathless whoops of horror choking from her throat, and a cry already keening up from somewhere she'd had time to gasp in more than three breaths, tears were already pouring down her cheeks and she was curling in on herself, crying harder than she'd imagined possible, most of the carnal cries to thick in her throat to even be released.

For the following weeks to come, every time she closed her eyes she'd see her mother, cold and dead, on that metal tray, her skin a musky grey blue, her eyes closed and chest unmoving.

Sucking in a breath, she stared down at the corpse. She'd known this was going to happen. She'd seen the boy's trainers, seen the Jane or John Doe's blood that was artfully decorated over the cracked windshield and car. Seen this coming. She'd wilfully ignored her fear and the cry in the back of her head because even before Sherlock informed her she was coming, she'd known she would be.

God knows why she wanted to do this, to see this thing through to the end, but something carnal was driving her to.

Emily glanced at Sherlock, taking in his stooped over position, the sharp intense but unreadable expression on his face. She wondered if she would turn out like him eventually when all was said, and all was done. She looked at John, stoic and grim at the same time. No, she decided I'll keep my friends. I won't treat them like. . . like he does.

She inhaled briefly, noticing that Sherlock was looking at her impatiently. She realised abruptly that he'd been busy talking and analysing the situation while she'd been off on a few minutes worth of nightmares past.

She said nothing to him, her eyes catching his clenched jaw, his pouted lips, the cruel slant of his brows and the sharpness of his eyes. Those eyes were the eyes of a hawk, Emily knew. They could spot the smallest prey and then his mouth would open, white teeth gleaming, ready to tear said prey apart.

She looked away abruptly, looking instead unto Molly Hooper, who was standing nervously in the corner, like a rabbit ready to bolt. In her hands, she held a folder, her nails digging into the translucent covering and leaving slight indents as she irregularly relaxed and then regained her grip. She was looking at Emily to, as though she expected something bad to happen.

She probably expected Emily to open her mouth wide, displaying white teeth as ferocious as her predecessor, her so-called father, and bite off her head.

But little miss Molly said nothing, merely cradling the folder and giving her a nervous, mouse like look. She turned, finally to John and sighed. He looked world-weary, his eyes slightly unfocused and distant but unmistakably set on her.

"You're associating the Morgue with your mother," Sherlock dismissed, "How benign of you."

John inhaled, running his hand through his blonde hair.

"Emily, do you really think you should be done here? I mean it's-"

Emily cut him off with a simple answer, one that echoed and bounced around the room. "Yes."

She turned back to John, her dark eyes meeting his. "We've been through this." She inhaled sharply, trying hard to constrain the trembling in her chest and the tears threatening to well.

"I will not give up, John. I'm going to do everything I can to break through this." She brushed back her hair and turned to Sherlock, her eyes darting between the three of them.

"I assume that you know what happened, at least in part?" She asked, her eyes landing on Sherlock. His lip curled into a half-smile.

"Obvious."

Emily sighed, tucking her hands into her pockets. "Then would you are to please explain it again for me?"

He snorted slightly. "Last time, Emily. From here on out, you will listen to everything I have to say, everything Molly has to say, and even what John has to say. You either keep up or be left behind."

Emily bowed to her waist. "Whatever you say, your highness."

Sherlock snorted again, turning from her and stalking to the corpse, gesturing for her to follow. She did so hesitatingly, stopping beside the low metal table.

"You'll note Miss Prince's lack of wrinkles, despite her age," Sherlock said, or rather, ordered, fingers hovering across where traditional wrinkles. Miss Prince's were non-existant.

"Yes," Emily said, shrugging, "So she used Botox injections."

"Exactly." Sherlock smiled grimly. He held up the corpses hand, "You'll see the cut across her finger, supposedly from a nail."

Emily nodded. "It looks like a very accurately stabbed wound," she commented.

Sherlock glanced between Emily and the corpse, "That's not all. The wound was post-mortem."

"So it couldn't have been the tetanus." Emily said, nodding along as he spoke.

"Exactly. But then, we take certain chemical levels from the body, look at them. Certain chemicals spiked. Certain things that are too high."

Emily met his stare, "Certain things found in Botox?"

He smiled slowly, bitterly. "Exactly."

"So, whoever was giving her the Botox is our killer," Emily said, tilting her head. "I think this calls for a house trip. Miss Prince's in particular."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, giving her a sarcastic clap and a drawl of, "Well done."

Emily raised her brow,"Jeesh, no need to be such a twat over it." That said, she started for the Morgue exit, the two men following her, one practically comparable to a spoilt brat and the other to a brother.

Sherlock called Lestrade, requesting (Much to Lestrade's chagrin) Miss Prince's address. The three of them were at the house in record time.

Emily knocked on the door, and a few seconds late it was opened by a woman, presumably the house maid.

"Hello," Emily said quietly, politely, "We've come to speak to you about Miss Prince."

The woman paled but opened the door, letting the three of them in.

"Are you three cops?"

"Be realistic," Emily sighed, "I'm only sixteen."

The woman swallowed, clearly flustered and offered the three of them a seat, which they took. She offered them tea, which was politely refused by all three of them.

Sherlock immediately started looking her over. Emily doubted he even needed to; the woman's paling, the shaking, the question about the cops. The woman practically was screaming, _"Guilty! Guilty! I'm guilty!"_

"You gave Miss Prince has botox injections, didn't you?" Emily asked, tilting her head. The maid froze.

"Yes." She said, swallowing, as she straightened up. "Why?"

"Because you killed her," Sherlock relayed, leaning back into the chair.

"Wha-what?"

Sherlock waved a hand around lazily. "Killed her. You and you're brother's lover, if I'm not mistaken."

The maid looked about ready to drop, her mouth gaping.

"Sit down, lady." Emily invited. "You don't have long before the cops show." She grinned, "The _real_ cops, that is."

The phone rang and Sherlock answered it quickly. The woman was still on the line, whimpering in fear as she tried to talk.

Emily stood and started for the door.

"What did he sound like, then?" She heard Sherlock ask, "Did he have an accent?"

"Yes, he-" Her voice died onto a scream and the sound of something loud, an explosion, started up. The phone cut off with a thin buzzing noise.

Emily froze by the door, her head turning back to Sherlock's.

"Why would you ask her about that?" She asked, voice little more than a rough whisper. It rose louder as she spoke on, "You idiot. She was still in danger, he could still hear her,_ why did you ask her about it!"_

"He though she was safe!" John snapped. Emily released a low shout of disbelief.

"What, three fucking seconds after he did the puzzle? Don't joke with me, John, it was too early for her to be safe, and he fucking knew it! How could he not!"

The maid, still standing there, white-faced, sank down onto the sofa with a distressed little moan. Sherlock took in a breath, and then said, very astutely, very calmly, "John, take her home. I'll wait here until the police come by to pick her," He nodded to the maid, "Up and then go with them to collect her brother's lover."

John nodded, still shaking and attempted to drag Emily out. Emily roughly dishevelled his grip on her, his eyes still fixed on Sherlock.

"This is your fault."

"Emily!" John spluttered.

She spread her hands out above her and pulled them back down with a frustrated cry. "Just fuck off!"

That said, she stormed from the building and started stalking down the street. She could hear John say something to Sherlock and then heard him jogging to catch up with her. She ignored him, ignored the furious tears welling up in her eyes and dripping down on her cheeks.

"It was his fault." She bit out. "He knew. He must have known. He thinks everything through. He must have known." Her voice grew progressively quiet and stalled to a stop, wiping her eyes.

She turned around to face John, who pulled her into a warm hug, gently cradling her emotionally exhausted body and gently rocking her.

"He doesn't think everything through Emily. No one does. He tries to, but sometimes he gets distracted and forgets."

Emily rested her head against John's chest, her own arms wrapped around him. John let her go gently, his fingers brushing away the tears from her cheeks.

"She must have been so afraid," Emily said softly, her eyes heavily lidded and head drooping down towards the floor. She inhaled, "At least there's no one pain for her to endure."

"It sounded like it took down an apartment," John said carefully.

Emily closed her eyes. "More died than just her."

John nodded. "I think so."

She opened them again, adjusting her glasses. "Take us home, John." She said, her face carefully blank.

John nodded, taking out his phone.

* * *

Emily yawned softly, stretching out on the sofa. When Sherlock was there, she didn't dare so much as touch the sofa. She closed her eyes and opened them, struggling to keep awake. She heard Sherlock coming up the stairs, but couldn't be bothered to move.

Sherlock appeared, actually looking tired for a change.

"Go to bed, Sherlock," Emily mumbled from the sofa. "You need to sleep sometime and, my god," She raised her head, "You actually look tired. D'you feel guilty yet?"

She pushed her face into the cushion, waiting to hear a clever, meticulous response. Instead she only heard his door open and close.

For a moment she listened to the silence. The silence was a hated thing. She could hear her heart beating, hear the slow, monotone song. She felt her stomach tighten.

"Too quiet," She whispered. Too guilty, she realised. She felt guilty for pushing Sherlock out of the room, for shouting at him, for telling him it was his fault. He was only human. Human's can't see the future.

Emily ran her tongue over her lip and bit the inside of her cheek. She heard him shuffle around in his room and rose up out of the sofa, gently opening his door.

"Sherlock," She said softly.

Sherlock was sitting on a stool, watching something through a microscope and wearing a blue pajamas. He barely glanced up at her entrance. Urging herself on, she walked into the room.

'Sherlock." She repeated again, voice still hushed, unsure of how to continue. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

His head tilted upwards slightly. She reached out and gently wrapped her arms around his middle, giving him a gentle squeeze of a hug before letting go.

"I'm sorry." She said again, before exiting the room and leaving Sherlock to his thoughts and his microscope.

She lay on the sofa for a while after that, the darkness blurring her sight. She wasn't tired, and she could still hear Sherlock. John, judging from the occasional snore, was fast asleep. Eventually, Sherlock creaked his door open, his silhouette stretching across the hallway.

He turned on the light, revealing Emily, laying on the sofa, awake. He looked at her for a moment and she got up, walking over to her usual armchair. He bent down, took his violin case and opened it, revealing the wooden, glossy instrument.

He played a few practise notes, tuning it. She heard John's groan and even the thump of head hitting pillow. Her lips twitched at the image.

He started playing, properly, a soft song, long and sweet with a winding melody. She curled up in the armchair, watching his fingers dart across from string to string, while his other hand gently carried the. . . she blinked. Bow, was it? She shook her head, confused and returned to listening to the song. Eventually, her eyes started to close.

When she woke up, she was still curled up in her armchair. And she was bloody freezing. She spied Sherlock's coat on the table and dragged it towards her, curling up with it wrapped around her.

She glanced over the violin, sitting in it's case and then at the clock. It was the early hours of the morning. Standing, she slipped the coat on, watching with amusement as the ends of the coat just brushed her ankles and padded towards his room.

She opened the door quietly and discovered Sherlock, lying in his bed, eyes closed and breathing easy. A smile crossed over her lips and she padded over to John's room to discover the same for John.

She closed the door and stretched out on the sofa, putting the T.V on, the volume almost non existant. And what programme should be on at five O'clock in the morning but Scooby Doo?

Emily grinned, remembering her last day of seconday school. The students had all dressed up for the last day, and Emily had wound up buying a Velma-esque outfit, where instead of school shoes, she wore a pair of bright red gogo boots, orange socks, red skirt and an orange jumper. She'd even gone about carrying a Scooby toy and a box of, "Scooby Snacks" which was really a cereal packet with the scooby snacks box picture stuck on it.

The last day of school was just the best thing ever. Until, of course, you realised how much of a kick in a gut it really is when you have to say goodbye to friends two years below you that will likely never see you again.

Her smile widened as she suddenly realised the complete and utter irony of it all as she pictured herself in the outfit.

"Fate is such a kick up the ass," She whispered to herself, shaking her head and choking down laughter. It just wouldn't do to wake up her guardian and her father, now would it?

* * *

**Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much if you reviewed, favourited or alerted this story. I still don't know where I'm going with this as I think the twist I planned just fizzled out to nothing so far. I think I need plot ideas! Ha! Anyways, as usual; I haven't seen the Great Game, have no audio on my dinosaur computer and can't really reach them. So I make up the little bits I don't know. :) **

**Emily's last day costume is based on a friend of mine, who came as Velma on the last day. It was really cool. :)**

**As usual, sorry these chapter's as so short, I hope you enjoyed reading it and most of all, I hope you'll review. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! I'm very sorry for taking so long to getting back to this! I know, I'm a pain, but hey, finally got some time, so, I thought, right, give them a chapter. So this chapter is still going on with the Great Game, though there will be a few changing aspects because I want to have some Em time. **

**It's important to realize that OCs have their own lives, and that sticking strictly to canon and staying by Sherlock and John's side all the time would neglect the character and leave her unable to grow. Hence, this chapter will be about Emily, with a side of Sherlock. Enjoy. **

Emily straightened her jacket, pulling her hair out from under the collar. The dark of her hair contrasted against her hair, and the green liquid eyeliner, something she hadn't worn in a while, was doing wonders to her confidence. Every time she looked up, her gaze immediately locked with her eyes.

She adjusted the belt at her hip and clicked her boots together, in a very Dorothy-esque way. An amused smile crossed over her lips and she grabbed her bag. She could hear Sherlock rustling around in the kitchen, whilst John was a distinctive absence (She'd drifted back off to sleep after a few The Adventures of Grimm and Mandy and he must have gone out then) in the apartment.

She licked her lips, gave her jacket a final tug, and then walked into the living room.

"Sherlock," She called quietly, "I'm going out."

Just in case, she slid her phone from her pocket and literally texted him what she had just said before she wandered down the stairs, her hands trailing across the wallpaper.

Outside, she took in a quiet breath and started to walk briskly. At the end of the street, Abbey, Caitlin and Maria were stood, waiting. Abbey was laughing, as usual, waving her arms about. Her heavy bag was lugging down her more energetic movement.

Caitlin, a friend that Emily had gone to school and had Textiles with, was smiling, her brown-blonde wavy hair glossy in the light. She was wearing Cath Kidston type clothing. Beside her, clad in a hoodie and skinny jeans, was Maria, another friend from Textiles. (Theirs was a class of three after the English Baccalaureate was put in) Her usual brief smile kept appearing and then disappearing. Emily smiled as Caitlin saw her and smiled widely.

"Hi!" She called, her blue eyes twinkling.

"Hey," Emily smiled, mouth tilting up.

"Hey, Em," Maria said, smiling.

Emily gaped, suddenly noticing the change she hadn't been able to discern in Maria before.

"You cut your hair!" She half spluttered, half beamed. All of her friends long, dyed black hair had been loped off really short, like a boys, and her roots, which had obviously been growing at the time, had been dyed a dark red that was only visible at the parting she had swept her hair to. Her dark eyes blinked behind her glasses.

"Yeah," Absently, Maria's hand reached out, barely touching the tip of her short hair before dropping her hand back down. She smiled awkwardly.

Abbey, ignoring the conversation Emily and Maria were partaking in, threw herself onto Emily, wrapping her hands around her with a happy noise.

"Emily!"

Maria, who Emily had cajoled into joining them purely because she knew the girl would have little else to do, considering she was never usually around this area, and because she was a friend Emily had not seen in a while. it was quite surprising to see how much the teen had changed.

Caitlin, because, like Maria, she had been in her textiles class, had been a good friend to Emily, and Emily knew that she would be around today. Well- she lived around and had agreed to come anyway.

(Well, she'd orchestrated the event this morning, so it was more coincidence she'd found her textile colleagues were gonna be around- just some time she'd set aside for herself, some time to try and figure out who she was now.)

And Abbey? Abbey was always around.

"So, what are we gonna do?" Maria asked, somewhat sheepishly. She had never had many friends in Secondary, and wasn't used to social events. As she liked reminding people when she got nervous. She was like a lamb really, but one with a really tough gut when push came to shove.

Emily shrugged, glancing at her friends. "I don't know."

"How 'bout we hang around. . . " Abbey paused, her head tilted. She pouted slightly. "Ummm. . . the park?"

Caitlin pulled a face and Maria cringed slightly.

"We could go to mine?" Caitlin offered. "We can bake or something."

That put a nostalgic grin on three of the groups faces. Maria just shrugged slightly.

"Oh my god, yes!" Abbey beamed, skipping about on her feet. Emily glanced at Maria, who, fidgeting with the purple choker around her neck, looked back. She shrugged, as if to say, _why not?_

Caitlin set off and the others trotted after, giggling. After walking some way, they arrived at Caitlin's house. Following Caitlin in, they made their way through the pale cream hallway into the equally pale kitchen, and the chatter accumulated, accented with giggles as they got out the ingredients needed to make chocolate cake.

"Can anyone actually remember how much ounces of these we need?"

"I think it's six all around," Maria frowned, "With, what. . . there's something either small or bigger than six, but I can't remember."

They gave each other puzzled looks.

"Don't you have a cookery book?" Maria asked.

"No," Caitlin replied.

Emily watched Abbey shove her hands into the flour, happily puffing up a cloud. It settled like snow on the counter.

"Google to the rescue!" Abbey announced, dusting her hands. She brought her phone out and started poking at her touch screen.

"Yesh, I have found the answer!" Abbey crowed. The measurements she gave were dubious at best, but they started to pile in the measurements anyway, beating it altogether with whisks (a good deal of it flicking back at the girls) and Abbey greasing the cake tin with butter. It was a silicon cake tin, and Maria was somewhat confused at the greasing with butter, but Abbey was quite confidant with it.

Safe to say Maria told her if it stuck to the cake tins, she'd be saying _I told you so._

And so their baby cake was laid to rest (Rise?) in the oven while the butter-cream was made. Caitlin retrieved some Magic Stars and Smarties from the drawer, and they melted some chocolate over the hob.

"This is gonna be great," Emily enthused.

They watched the oven, Maria advising on the amount of time the cake needed, and finally took the cake out if the oven. It looked great; both halves were even, had nice colour, smelt wonderful. And then Abbey tried to take the cake out of the silicon tray. . . and it stuck.

All four of them cracked up, giggling like the crazies they were as their cake flopped out of the tin and onto the tray with half of its bottom gone.

"Abbey. . . I told you so."

"Oh god. . ." Emily spluttered.

"Well, at least Emily didn't set something on fire this time," Abbey giggled.

"Hey! That was an accident!"

"C'mon, lets. . . lets try to finish this. .. this thing." Maria managed to say between splutters. The near destroyed cake halves were cemented together via the butter-cream, the melted chocolate spooned on the top and the smarties arranged into an happy face. The stars just encircled the face.

It was then that the second problem was discovered.

"Guys? How are we gonna move it?"

They looked at each other again and burst into splutters of laughter.

"Um, get a plate Caitlin," Maria said, smirking.

Caitlin retrieved one and they all started trying to pick up the cake. The experience was as hilarious as it got, and by the time the cake got on the plate, it was half destroyed.

They stared.

"Well, it's probably still edible," Abbey grinned, reaching out and nabbing a chunk of cake. She popped it in her mouth and chewed, giving the group the thumbs up.

"Wait! Facebook pictures!" Abbey cheered, getting her phone back out. She started to photograph the cake and then the flour-covered girls.

"Abbey, no!" Emily gasped, throwing her arms over her face and giggling.

"Emily, _yes!"_

There was a pause and then the group burst into another bout of laughter. Shaking her head, Emily stuck her tongue out. There a click and she yelped, covering her mouth.

"Abbey!"

"No, that was me," Maria chimed in. The laughter finally ceased and everybody just smiled at each other, nabbing bits of cake. Emily licked her lips. The cake was actually quite sweet- probably too much sugar- and was getting sickly.

They tidied up while they ate away at the cake.

When the cakes were eaten and the photos (Terrifyingly enough) were uploaded to facebook, the group settled on the sofa, lounging comfortably while the T.V played reruns of NCIS. Yawning, Emily glanced around the room, still smiling. Yeah, she was okay. She was gonna be just fine. She hadn't changed, her friends hadn't changed (Well, not much) and it was only that world had turned belly up.

"What do you wanna do now?" The question came from Caitlin, who was curled up like a cat.

"I can't really be bothered to do anything," Abbey confided. "I'm too comfy."

"Same," Maria mumbled, eyes heavily lidded. Emily sighed in agreement.

"I reckon we should meet your dad, Em." Abbey yawned a few minutes later.

Emily shook her head. "No way."

Distantly, she recalled the Greenwich pips and the murders. Distantly, she tried to block it out. Tried to be normal. Life would go on like normal if. . . if? She sighed softly, watching Diagnosis Murder play out. It wasn't making her feel any better. Curling up tighter, she wrapped her arms around herself.

After the drama was over, the girls started to get up, stretching out and yawning.

Emily slipped her phone free from her pocket, surprised to find that there were several text messages on it.

**Where are you? The challenge has started. There's been a murder, I need you here! **

**S.H**

Emily progressively deleted the messages, her thumb trembling over the phone's buttons. They were getting angrier as she went along, some totally slandering her. The last ones seemed to change their tunes however. They were coaxing ones, saying that she could come now, that everything would be okay, that he'd make sure she was okay.

There was even one from an unknown person, asking where she was.

Sighing, she put her phone in the pocket.

"Guys," She said softly, "I'm gonna have to go. Family issues."

There was an instant clatter of protest and sympathy from her friends. "I'll see you guys later, okay?"

"Do you know how to get back?" Caitlin asked.

"Yeah, thanks."

With a smile, she started to retreat out of the room. Once outside, she screwed up her face in distress. She got her phone out and rang Sherlock's number.

Barely a second after it rung, it was answered.

"Emily, where are you?" His words were quick, practically jumbled together.

"Just. . . not too far. I'll go back to the Baker Street."

"No, I need you here!"

"Sherlock, I don't know where, "Here" is." Emily pointed out dryly. Her good mood had officially fled, leaving her stomach feeling cold and empty.

"River Thames." He gabbled, obviously walking down. He was pointing things out to John between talking to her.

"Who's the Golem?"

"An assassin," Sherlock answered briskly. She heard him grumble, and then, "Never mind. I'll bring you up to date when I get back to the apartment. We're just about done here anyway, no point in having you around."

She nodded to herself, her stomach dropping lower. No point in having you around. . . he really doesn't want me around, does he? He only wants me for his own gain, to make him feel good about himself and inflate his ego.

Hearing him chattering to John again, she inhaled, closed her eyes.

"Okay, see you at home." Her voice sounded hollow even to herself. She hung up, slid the phone back into her pocket and started to walk back home. Rain started to fall. Emily stalled, faltering. She slid her coat from her shoulders and tied it around her waist. The rain was a great controversial to the sun. It felt nice against her skin.

She closed her eyes, still walking. She put in her ear phones and played shuffle on her phone. Pink's, "Try" came on and she sung along softly to the chorus as she walked home, rain sliding down her spine.

"_Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame, where there is a flame someone's bound to get burned. But just because it burns, doesn't mean you're gonna die. You gotta get up, you gotta try, try, try."_

Arriving at the apartment several songs later, she let herself in (The door had been left unlocked) and went upstairs. Taking her earphones out, she put the audio on full and went into the bathroom. She stripped off her clothes and stepped in the shower, turning the water cool.

The song "Paradise" by Coldplay played in the background. Leaning against the side of the tub, she released a low sigh, reaching out for shampoo. It was Sherlock's, she realized, after already running it through her hair. Sighing, she just set it back exactly where she remembered it being, spraying it with the shower head. Her shampoo prints were washed away and half the bath was soaked by the time she returned the shower-head to its stand and scrubbed out the shampoo. She conditioned her hair, ensuring it was John's before she did so.

Despite this, she could still smell Sherlock's shampoo. Cringing slightly, her mouth formed the word, "Busted". She spat out the water that had crept into her mouth and sighed.

After shaving, she dried off with a towel and then redressed in fresh clothes. When she got into the living room, hair wet, towel around her neck, dressed black Emily the Strange hoodie and matching jeans, she found she was still alone.

Her phone had shut up. Battery died, she thought. She walked into the kitchen and flipped through the cupboards, searching for something that actually looked edible. She found some spaghetti that looked like mold had already eaten it. She closed the cupboard doors and turned to the fridge.

"Yeah, not going there," She muttered to herself, shaking her head. She returned to the living room, drying off her hair slowly with her hand rubbing it with the towel. She put her phone on charge and set it to play music again. Sitting down, she listened to the music, drying off her hair.

Finally, she heard Sherlock's voice rising up the hallway, hear his feet on the stairs and John's behind him. She sniffed, smelling the goddamn shampoo again.

"Crap," She muttered, wondering how he would react when he learned that she'd used his shampoo. She saw her bag suddenly and dove for it, grabbing her deodorant. She sprayed it around the room, leaving it smelling like vanilla.

Sherlock entered the room, sniffed and said nothing off it, just sitting down. John walked in and choked on the smell. Her lips twitched slightly, her empty stomach churning.

"Em, what have you been spraying?"

She shrugged lightly, her brown eyes appraising Sherlock, who has just been in the bathroom. He sat down in his usual spot, like a cat, and gives her a curious look.

"First thing I grabbed." She said. If he had already caught on to her using his shampoo, he would have understood, if not, he would have been confused. He was nodding, however, so she could see that he had indeed understand that she had used his stuff. Overall, he didn't seem to care, but then again, his facial expressions were always _curt. _It was hard to tell if he actually cared.

She crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand.

"So," John said, rubbing his hands slightly. "Food."

Emily grimaced. "I checked the cupboards. All you guys have is spaghetti."

"Spaghetti sounds-"

"Spaghetti growing mold."

John paused, "Sounds like take out."

Emily shrugged slightly. "Can't we just get something edible during grocery shopping?"

"I usually do, but Sherlock likes to use it for other than edible means. Anything of any use would be in the fridge, but. . . "

"I didn't even wanna open the door." Emily said apologetically. She sighed. John sighed. Sherlock just sat there, looking at her like a cat.

"John, go get food. I want to talk to Emily."

John looked mildly nervous about this. He stood even so, glancing at Emily. Mouthing, "Sorry" he exited, leaving Emily and Sherlock.

Emily, feeling considerably shaky, turned to face her estranged father.

"What is it?"

He curled his lip slightly, electric eyes intense.

"I want you available when I_ need_ you available."

"I can't predict the future," Emily responded, leaning forward. Sherlock shrugged at this.

"Neither can I. But I know that friends aren't necessary and you don't need them. We need you. John and I need you. I want you to be a part of this, as much as possible. I won't let it be said I never tried to make you a Holmes."

Emily leaned back quickly, as though she'd struck.

"I don't want to be a Holmes. I want to keep what I have left of my mum, I want to keep my friends."

"Emily, you don't need them. All you need is yourself."

"What, and turn out like you? Look at yourself. You don't do yourself any favors by being alone and friendless!"

His expression darkened. Emily uncrossed her legs and stood.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, but. . . " She spread her arms out, almost in a surrendering motion. "I'm just not. . . I was never brought up to be like you or yours. It's not gonna happen."

Sherlock's dark expression faded slightly, and a coy smirk appeared.

"We'll see about that."

Emily shook her head, wet curls bouncing over her shoulders. She sat back down, bringing her knees up to her chest. She dropped her head against the headrest. Her eyes half closed.

"And mummy said that we're having Sunday Dinner there."

Emily raised her head, dark eyes fixed on Sherlock. She decided it wasn't worth it and dropped her head back.

"Mycroft will be there."

Emily let out an audible groan, curling up in her chair and sticking her head down into her chest. Her hair covered her face like a mask.

* * *

Later that evening, after eating a cheese sandwich (All she found she had the stomach for) she went into his room, changed into her pajamas and slid into his bed, she thought about herself and her future. It took the best of a few hours before she actually fell asleep.

**So, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry it was so short, but I had to nip it so y'all could get a fix. And, you know, so I could think about where I was going with this. Anyways, thanks for reading. Please, would you review? :)**


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